


Hidden Scars

by risingstardust



Series: Hidden Scars [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Child Abuse, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Molestation, Past Child Abuse, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-12 18:46:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 26,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28640232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/risingstardust/pseuds/risingstardust
Summary: It's fifth year and there's a new charm that's popular around school that shows magical core amounts. But why is Harry's different? And what's with his scars that show up and then disappear... Be sure to read the warning tags!
Series: Hidden Scars [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2098824
Comments: 44
Kudos: 118





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is finished and I am working on writing a sequel. 
> 
> Please note the warnings! 
> 
> Enjoy!

Harry had rarely seen the front entrance hall of Hogwarts so crowded. It was just after winter break and it seems everyone was using this opportunity to greet their friends and inquire about Christmas gifts. He could have sworn they all had ample time for this kind of camaraderie on the train. For the first time in his fifth year, Harry was a little glad of his reputation as the resident crazy guy. A few people started to push against their neighbors in an effort to give him more distance and he only scowled at them in reply.

It wasn't until he and his friends were almost out of the dense crowd that Harry saw the first numbers appear over a student's head. He couldn't help but pause and jerk his head in that direction. Above a Ravenclaw sixth year's head was the number 782 in glittering white. Her friends were patting her on the back and giving her slightly appreciative glances.

"Okay, okay. Me next," a boy said. The Ravenclaw nudged her friend who turned to the boy and waved her wand at him. The numbers 623 showed above his head. He shrugged and didn't seem too upset at the numbers.

Harry and his friends had all stopped and stared, wondering at this new marvel. They weren't the only ones. Most of the entry hall were stopping and some closest to the spectacle finally asked what was going on.

"It's a spell to show your magical core amount. Sort of like a score on how powerful you are," one of the sixth years said. Before much else was said McGonagall's voice spread out over the crowd.

"Move along, people! This is not a place for loitering. To your common rooms!"

Hermione and Harry moved on and had to drag a reluctant Ron with them. "That was a cool spell. Don't you think, Harry?"

"Yeah, seems cool. Come on, I want to get cleaned up before dinner."

The two boys continued to chat about the spell as they walked towards the Gryffindor dormitories. "Can you imagine what Dumbledore's number must be? I mean, it's got to be like off the charts, right?" Ron asked.

"For sure. What about Goyle's, though? Or Crabbe? You think it can show negative numbers?" They chuckled together before Hermoine butted in.

"Just great! Another way for wizards to compare their wand lengths. As if we don't have enough competitiveness in this school."Her lips were pursed and her arms crossed as she walked.

Ron rolled his eyes before slinging an arm around her back, "Come on, Hermione. It's all in good fun. There's no problem with a little good-natured rivalry." The witch didn't seem to be appeased. "Besides, it could be interesting to really compare the numbers, right? Maybe there's some, I don't know, scientific correlation or something?"

Her arms dropped as she considered his words. Now he was talking her language. "You could be on to something, Ron. If you can really collect data on the strength of a wizard's magic with, say, their blood lineage, maybe we could finally have solid proof that purebloods aren't all they're cracked up to be."

Harry grinned at Ron. He definitely saw what Ron did. The redhead knew how to appeal to Hermione's genius, sometimes. He scratched at his face in a mock thinking gesture, "Yes, yes. Perhaps with enough data, we can finally discover the source of squibs and muggleborns. Or perhaps the source of Umbridge's dark evil powers."

His friends laughed while Harry rubbed at the back of his hand. Then, as if being summoned, Umbridge came toddling down the corridor in her little pink heels.

Harry mumbled under his breath "Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice, Beeltlejuice." Hermione snorted while Ron gave him a very confused look.

"Step apart, there. Boys and girls are not to be so close, now. Get to your rooms before I assign detention."

"Yes ma'am," they all said in unison before moving past her, rolling their eyes as soon as she wasn't looking and both boys wrapped their arms around their female friend, stumbling up the stairs as they continued on.

ooooooooo

By the next morning, the magical score charm was being used everywhere. Many unsuspecting students would be meandering their way to their first lessons and find shimmering numbers hovering over their heads.

A pattern quickly appeared that showed most students ranging between the low 500s to the upper 700s. There were plenty of outliers, however. Some students had had the gumption to charm some of the professors with surprising results. Dumbledore was unsurprisingly off the charts at 1257. McGonagall was an impressive 1065 and Flitwick was a very respectable 956. No one had had the guts to charm Umbridge or Snape, yet.

All of the floating numbers had not escaped the attention of Umbridge who quickly created a new educational decree banning the use of the charm. It was ignored, just like every other decree she issued.

Harry and his friends finally took their opportunity to charm each other that evening in the common room, out of the view of Umbridge or Slytherins. Hermione had embraced the use of the charm in the wake of Umbridge's decree and had since been taking careful record of the numbers they knew for certain, looking for any evidence to support or disprove pureblood elitism.

Sitting around the fireplace in the squashy chairs, they all laughed in reaction to some of the numbers they had already seen.

"So, did you see that Parkinson was only a 533? I mean, dang. I think Crabbe was a 524," Ron laughed. Neville was looking decidedly nervous. The friends had all, fortunately, ducked getting the charm on them in public. So now the anticipation was mounting.

"Yes, well, Michael Corner was a very respectable 689. So that starts to support my hypothesis that so-called 'blood purity' is completely ridiculous. But of course, everyone is going to point to Malfoy's 703," everyone rolled their eyes at that. They hadn't been thrilled to see the prince of Slytherin with such a high score. "Let's add our numbers in now and see where we stand." She took out her wand and without any ceremony pointed it at Ron and said the charm. "Planimus Magicae."

White shimmery numbers displayed over Ron's head. 645. Ron shrugged and seemed ready to be satisfied with that number. It wasn't far off from where Fred and George had each sat with unsurprisingly identical 652s.

Hermione quickly added his number to her list before asking him, "Okay, now me."

Ron returned the favor and soon there were the numbers 765 shimmering over her head. Everyone broke out into huge smiles as Hermione blushed. "Wow, Mione. That's awesome! I knew it would be high, but…." Ron ended the sentence with a whistle. Hermione only blushed more and seemed pleased that her number would only further support her theory.

Next, she turned her wand to Neville who was practically sweating at this point. She waited a moment and gave him a little encouragement, "Whatever it is, Neville, we know you're plenty powerful." Then without letting him stop her she cast the charm. Everyone was very pleased to see 614. Neville's eyes practically bugged out of his head and Ginny patted him on the back, making him blush. She turned to Hermione and nodded for her turn.

Hermione cast the charm at Ginny and the numbers wavering over her head read 657. The little sister was merciless in her taunts. "Take that, Ron! I'm stronger than you! Haw-haw!" In response, Ron rolled his eyes and huffed that something along the lines that it was a 'stupid charm anyways'.

Harry gulped. He was the only one left. He had to admit to himself that he was a bit nervous. He was the 'boy-who-lived', after all. What if his number was in the 500s? Ron rubbed his hands in anticipation. "All right, now it's Harry's turn. This should be good."

"Oh, so now it's not a stupid charm, huh?" Ginny smirked at her brother. He blushed before nudging Hermione into casting the charm.

"Planimus Magicae."

The numbers 698 floated above Harry's head. He happily shrugged and most of the rest of them seemed pleased for him. Ron had a slight let down expression. Harry was surprised. It was a rare moment when he actually wanted Harry to outshine him. Ron said, "I was thinking it might be above Mal…" but before he finished another number appeared above Harry's number. This one read 845.

"What the…?" Ron voiced what everyone else's face said.

Hermione popped up and was scrambling for her book bag before Neville stopped her, "It's after curfew, Hermione. The library is closed." Harry couldn't help but chuckle at her disappointment.

She slumped back to the ground and for a moment everyone was struck silent. Eventually, Harry sighed before saying, "It can never be straight forward for me, can it?"

"Oh, Harry. Don't worry. I'm sure nothing is wrong. Just you know, different. I'll figure it out," his bookworm friend said while patting his arm.

Ron slapped Harry on the back and said, "If I were you, mate, I'd take credit for that second number. Wow!" Harry grinned at him and they laughed together for a moment as they talked about Malfoy's reaction to the second number. Suddenly Ron's eyes grew in horror. "Blimey, mate. I just realized. Hermione isn't going to let up until she has answers. We're doomed!"


	2. Chapter 2

The next few days proceeded just as Ron had predicted. Hermione was a flurry of books and parchment as she spent every free moment in the library trying to research magical power levels and the charm. Ron quickly lost steam and even Harry quickly gave up hope of finding a solution. He was ready to sum it all up as him being a freak of nature, once again.

Ron and Harry were sitting in the Great Hall one Saturday morning for a late breakfast after having slept in. Hermione had gotten up at some unholy hour and was already eye level deep in scrolls in the library. The two were chatting and reminiscing on their Quidditch days when a throat cleared behind them.

Both boys jumped in alarm. Throat clearing was many times way too similar to the 'ahem' noises of Umbridge. "Oh, I am sorry to startle you, boys," came the kindly voice of their head of house, "I simply wanted to ask for assistance from Mister Potter on a matter."

"Me, Professor?" Harry was immediately on guard. He didn't think he was in trouble. And he couldn't recall any time previously when McGonagall had seemed so...sweet.

"Yes, you Mister Potter. I am sure that Mister Weasley has some school work he could be working on in the meanwhile? Perhaps the Transfiguration essay that is past due?" She gave a pointed look to Ron who's ears burned bright red. That was more like it.

"Yes, Professor."

"Right, then. Could you follow me, Mister Potter? Are you quite through?"

Harry looked to his empty breakfast plate and nodded. He got up and followed the Professor. He briefly turned to Ron who gave him a quizzical expression which Harry answered with a shoulder shrug.

Harry followed McGonagall's brisk pace as she breezed through the hallways. What could the stern professor want his help with? Something Order related, perhaps?

Their journey ended without another word in the hospital wing. Now Harry was really curious.

"I have him, Poppy," McGonagall called out as she swept into the empty room. Madame Pomfrey came bustling out of her office and quickly closed the door to the hospital wing with a wave of her wand. It slammed shut behind Harry and he couldn't help but jump. Twice he'd jumped in a few minutes.

With another wave of her wand, Harry heard the lock click into place.

Harry looked to the two women who were as close to mother figures that Hogwarts had. They, fortunately, didn't keep him in suspense for long.

"Mister Potter, thank you for coming. Madame Pomfrey and I have been doing our best to gather evidence. We believe that you might be a key holder of such evidence."

"Evidence, ma'am? On what?"

Madame Pomfrey spoke next, "We need to be sure we have your discretion, Mister Potter. It's important that certain parties remain in the dark for the time being. You must tell no one what we are up to. Can you keep this secret? Until we tell you otherwise?"

Harry looked between the two women for a few moments. They obviously wouldn't give him any more information without his word. Could he trust them? So many teachers before had broken his trust…..

Then it occurred to him what they were probably gathering evidence on. Both women absolutely abhorred Umbridge. His face split into a sly smile. "Yes. You can count on me, madams. I think I know where you're going with this."

Professor McGonagall stood up slightly straighter and smirked at him. He was certain he saw a proud gleam to her eye. Harry figured he was a favorite of hers and this only gained him more points.

"Right, Mister Potter. I think you understand. There has come to light that this year a certain professor at this school has been using unapproved methods for discipline on students. We were able to get a list of those students who had detentions with (ahem) this professor….and we are questioning those children to see if any of them are able to bring forth hard evidence."

"Hard evidence, ma'am?"

Madame Pomfrey tutted, "This particular method of discipline can indeed leave evidence. Marks, shall we say. But only if it has been used over and over again. So a student with only one or even a few detentions might not have the visual proof we are needing."

"You, however, were in detention many times. Many, many times," McGonagall gave him a bit of a glare over the top of her glasses.

Harry felt his face flame.

"Mister Potter, you came to me not long after school had started. You expressed concerns to me that Professor Umbridge wasn't being, shall we say, within her bounds in her methods. I am truly sorry that I rebuffed you. Please know that I am doing what I can to right any wrongs I can."

Harry took a deep breath and felt some weight lift on his shoulders. It wasn't often that a teacher would admit to wrongdoings. McGonagall was starting to earn back a bit of respect from him.

"Yes, ma'am. Thank you."

"So, Mister Potter, with your repeated time spent in her company, do you have the evidence we are needing?"

Harry rubbed at the back of his right hand before he shook his head, "Sorry ma'ams. I was surprised myself, but after all my detentions the words just vanished."

"Vanished? You mean they faded away? Healed?" Madame Pomfrey cocked her head at him.

"No ma'am. Vanished. I woke up the morning after my last detention and the words were gone.

"Well, let's see now. Can I look at your hand, Mister Potter?" Madame Pomfrey asked with her own hand extended to him.

He didn't know why, but he felt slightly hesitant to let the witch examine him. He shrugged off his apprehensions and gave her his hand.

She slightly rubbed over the top with her fingers, feeling for any scars. He knew there weren't any. It was as he said. They had vanished. Just the roughness of his skin.

She took her wand out and tried a few simple spells. "Revelio. Finite Incatatum." Still, nothing was showing. The witch tapped her own chin with her wand for a moment with a look of puzzlement. Harry briefly looked to McGonagall who was watching the proceedings carefully.

Finally, Madame Pomfrey tapped his hand a few times and cast a spell that Harry hadn't heard before, "Revelet Deus Absconsa Tua."

Harry gasped as the words 'I must not tell lies' appeared on his hand in white, puckered scar tissue.

"Well, Mister Potter, you are full of surprises, I must say. That was a pretty advanced glamour charm."

Harry's jaw flapped up and down. He was at a loss for words. Glamour charm? He certainly didn't know any of those. They were for girls! Or certainly, guys who cared a lot more for their looks than him. If there were glamours to cover scars so well didn't they think he'd use it on his forehead?

He pulled his hand back towards himself and looked closely at the scars. He had always assumed that Hermione's murtlap goop had done a really fine job. But those were definitely the words he had written, there, carved apparently permanently into his flesh.

"Mister Potter, this is exactly what we were hoping for. While I am truly appalled at such obvious abuse being performed on a student, it's the evidence we need to get Professor Umbridge where she belongs. Out of this school!" McGonagall pursed her lips and he half expected her to stomp her foot with her claim. She had it out for the woman.

"For now, Mister Potter, until we have the rest of our case gathered we'll need to keep this quiet. You understand? Please don't tell anyone. If that woman gets word of what we're up to through the grapevine then she might find a way to stop it all."

Harry dumbly nodded his head, still staring at the back of his hand. Seeing the words again sent him back into that awful pink room with all those kitten plates. Mewing at him and licking their lips at the sight of his blood.

"Right, well then. Thank you, Mister Potter. And please, if you ever have a concern like this come up again, please come and speak with one of us. We will always be here for you," McGonagall now had a truly open expression and Madame Pomfrey was nodding her head alongside her.

Harry nodded his head and thanked them before walking numbly from the room. He could feel the looks of pity at his back as he clicked the lock open and walked through the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The spell that Madame Pomfrey uses is Latin for "reveal your secrets"
> 
> *smirks in Snape*


	3. Chapter 3

Harry walked to the common room and came in to find Ron sitting and playing chess with Dean. "Hey, mate! What did McGonagall want? You in trouble again?"

Harry stuffed his hands in his pockets as he walked closer and quickly thought up a reasonable excuse for the meeting, "Um, not really. She wanted advice on the quidditch schedule but you know, since I can't play, she didn't want to ask me in front of everyone," he then decided he needed to change the subject quickly, "I see that transfiguration essay is coming along."

Harry smirked as Ron rolled his eyes, "You know I can't think on a Saturday morning. It's bloody impossible! I have all weekend ahead." Harry just chuckled and sat down next to the boys to watch Ron finish his domination over Dean. He kept rubbing absent-mindedly at the back his right hand the whole game but didn't look down at it again.

By the time the boys agreed to go check in on Hermoine in the library he was mildly shocked to see the words were once again invisible. Had they really been there?

oooooooooooooo

"So, what I'm thinking, is that we need more data." Hermione was deep into 'Operation Harry's Freaky Magic Numbers' as Harry and Ron had dubbed it. Books and parchments were scattered all around her work surface in the library and her hair was more frizzed out than normal.

"Data? What do you mean?" Ron asked while casually slipping Bertie Bott's beans from his pockets.

"Honestly Ron, there's no food allowed in the library," she scowled. He grinned. "Well, I'm thinking that surely Harry isn't the only person here that has two scores. He's just the only one we know about. So we need more data. We need more scores from everyone else."

"Okay, but how are we going to do that?" Harry asked. "Umbridge put down that decree pretty quickly. I don't want to end up in detention again, do you?"

Hermione gave him a sympathetic look before answering, "Well, we'll just have to be careful, now shouldn't we? We don't need to get everyone's scores, hopefully. We just need to get a broad range. Examples of different wizards and witches with different lifestyles and backgrounds. That way maybe we can find a common denominator."

"Common what-a-nator?" Ron asked around a mouth of beans.

Hermione scrunched her nose, "Denominator, Ron. You know, what ties them together? Similarities?"

Ron nodded his head and shoved more beans in his mouth. Both Harry and Hermione couldn't help but shake their heads in fond exasperation.

"So I've made a list here of people we don't have scores on, yet. Maybe one of them will have two numbers as well." She pulled forward one piece of parchment where she'd scribbled down a bunch of names. There were all sorts on the list, both students and staff. Some would be easy, like Trelawney and the Patils. Trelawney was basically blind and drunk all the time lately so she wouldn't notice if the trio cast jelly-legs jinx on her. But then there was…

"Snape? And Umbridge? You expect us to cast the charm on them?" Harry whisper shrieked at her.

"Well of course we leave those for the last, Harry. Hopefully, we don't have to do that. But we shouldn't count them out just because it'll be difficult."

"More like bloody suicidal," Ron replied. He and Harry exchanged doubtful looks. The witch was crazy.

"Well, hopefully, it won't get to that point. Now let's get to work."

"Bleh! I swear one of those was the flavor of molding quidditch shoes. Gross!" Ron esclaimed while spitting out his mouth of beans into his hand.

Hermione scowled, "Serves you right."

Harry just chuckled and used his wand to disappear the mess.

oooooooooo

Over the next few days, they worked their way through Hermione's list. It was at times tricky to avoid detection from teachers when trying to get the scores of those in other houses, but eventually, they had worked their way through the majority of the school.

None of them had more than one number. Hermione was still pleased because she had acquired a good sampling for her other research into the spell, into whether wizarding heritage played a role in the score of an individual. Naturally, it didn't.

It was late one evening as the boys were getting ready for bed. Ron and Harry were in the bathroom going through their routines. "You know, Ron. It's only a matter of time before she's going to have us trailing Umbridge around. Or trying to break into her rooms at night," Harry said.

Ron shuddered, "Can you imagine what her rooms look like? If her office is that pink, just imagine. I bet it's covered in lace and ribbons and kittens. The horror!"

Harry laughed as he watched Ron lean close to the mirror and stroke his jawline. Ron had unsurprisingly started shaving sooner than Harry. And he loved to rub it in. The mirror supplied its own commentary. "Yes, it looks like it's time for a shave there. Or is that rust?"

"Oh, bugger off," Ron replied back before he took his wand in hand and performed the shaving spell. Harry cocked his head as he watched. He supposed Ron's dad or older brothers had shown him the spell. The wand moved along his skin with a small twinkle of magic slicing off the thin red hairs.

Harry looked into his own mirror and rubbed along his jaw. If he concentrated, he could start to feel some fine stubble making its appearance. He looked back to Ron and wondered to himself if Ron would show him the spell.

He looked to his other side where Seamus was at another sink using his muggle razor and shaving cream. It took him a moment to remember that Seamus's dad was muggle, so naturally, he wouldn't have someone to show him the shaving charm either. He watched fascinated as the blade moved across the face of his Irish friend. Then he remembered.

_During the previous summer, he was at Privet Drive. He was watching for a moment as his uncle stood at his sink and did his morning shave. He was old-fashioned and used a round brush to apply to the shaving cream followed by a straight razor. A couple of years earlier he had shown Dudley how to shave. The two had had a strong father-son bonding moment as Vernon had slapped Dudley on the back and praised his growing boy._

_Uncle Vernon washed the blade off in the sink and wiped off his face before turning to see Harry watching him from the doorway. "What are you looking at? A freak like you can't shave like a man. You can't even grow a beard properly."_

_The man then reached back to the straight blade that was still sitting, dripping on the edge of the sink. He took it in hand and with two swift steps walked to Harry. He grabbed his nephew around the neck with one hand and with the razor he dragged a long line down the side of Harry's face. Harry cried out as sharp pain clouded his senses before he felt the blood ooze down his face._

_"There, freak. That's the closest shave you're ever gonna get." The man walked off chuckling at his own joke. Harry stood, cupping his face, blood dripping to the floor._

Harry now stood in the bathroom with the other Gryffindor boys, gasping for breath. His eyes were glazed over as he remembered the pain his uncle had caused him. It wasn't that he had totally forgotten the incident before that moment, but for some reason watching Seamus had brought it back in sharp memory and he realized the horror of his uncle's actions.

"Earth to Harry! Hello in there! Are you having a vision or something, mate?" Ron's voice finally jarred him from his reflections as his friend jostled his shoulders. Harry shook his head to clear his mind before turning to look at Ron. But, before he could say a word to ease his friend's concern Ron gasped, "Bloody hell! Where did that come from?" Ron was looking wide-eyed at Harry's face.

"Huh? What?" Harry turned to the mirror to see that there was now a long, deep but thin scar from just below his left eye down to the edge of his jaw. It resembled the track a tear makes. "What the hell? I….I don't…..know."

"Mate, that's really weird. We should get you to Pomfrey or something."

For a moment Harry was about to agree, but then he realized he'd have to explain the memory. "I….I don't think we should. It's not like I'm bleeding or something. It's after curfew. We'd get in trouble for being out." Harry realized that the other boys had already gone to bed, including Seamus. He must have been dazed off for awhile. He was glad they hadn't noticed the scar, though.

"No, come on. I'm sure they'll understand. It's not like a scar just up and appears out of nowhere, right?" Ron started to pull Harry by his arm towards the door and down the stairs. But Harry planted his feet. He couldn't explain it, but he really didn't want to bother Madame Pomfrey with it right at that moment. Having to explain that memory to her filled him with dread.

"Seriously, Ron. I don't think we should leave. I really don't want to get detention over this. Not again. Come on, we'll go in the morning. It's not hurting or anything."

Ron wavered for a moment. Ever since the blood quill incident, he understood Harry being reluctant to get detention. "Well, all right. But first thing in the morning we're going. That's really weird mate. Freaky."


	4. Chapter 4

Harry spent a restless night with nightmares full of flashes from both Voldemort's mind and his uncle bearing a razor. When he woke up it was with a sense of doom about his promise to Ron. His mood lifted significantly, however, after he glanced at himself in the mirror.

"It's gone!"

"What's gone?" asked Neville. Neither Harry nor Ron had told the other boys about the mysterious scar on his face.

Ron came into the bathroom rubbing his sleep crusted eyes. After looking at Harry's face which held only the one, expected scar he cocked his head like a confused puppy. "Where'd it go?"

"I don't know, mate. But it's gone. So let's just get to breakfast, all right?" Harry pushed past Ron in the doorway and went to get dressed.

Ron stood, still rubbing his eyes, still baffled. "That's the weirdest thing. I mean, it was there. We both saw it. Now it's gone? Visions from Voldemort, a burning scar, and now disappearing scars. You definitely know how to keep us on our toes."

The two made their way to breakfast where Hermione was waiting for them. She was scouring the list in front of her and started in on them before they even sat down. "We have to do it. Snape is next." The two boys sat with groans. "Well, it's either him or Umbridge. And I figure he's a safer bet. He isn't the one with the decree out and he kind of hates her, too. So maybe if he caught us at it he wouldn't make too much of a fuss."

"You honestly think that we, the three of us, the three students Snape hate most in the world, can get caught doing something and he won't take the opportunity to drive us into the ground? Fat chance," Harry said.

"No, I don't think that. I didn't say it would be us doing the charm, now did I?"

"Then who?" Ron and Harry asked in unison.

"Luna."

Both Ron and Harry gaped at her. It was brilliant. Luna wasn't a Gryffindor. And if the rumor was true, she had mostly escaped notice from the surly potions master. She was always known for doing odd things. And most of the teachers had a soft spot for her.

"Could you ask her, Harry? I think she kind of likes you," Hermione asked. Ron snorted. "No, Ron, not like that. I just mean that Harry has always been nice to her."

"Sure. Whatever gets me out of sneaking around behind Snape's back." Harry stood up and went to the Ravenclaw table where Luna was perched on the far end. She was eating with one hand while reading the latest Quibbler in the other. Radishes adorned her ears and she occasionally reached a hand out to put an apple into her bag from the bowl on the table. Probably to feed the thestrals or some other beastie within the grounds.

"Hey, Luna."

Her dreamy eyes gazed up at him with a bright smile, "Oh. Hi, Harry. I'm glad to see the wrackspurts aren't bothering you as much. They do like to come and go, though. So be on guard. Would you like one of my necklaces? They're sure to keep them away."

"Umm, no, thanks. That's alright, Luna. I wanted to ask a favor, though."

"Sure, Harry. Whatever I can do to help." She kept the sweet open expression the whole time. Harry envied her.

"Well, you see, it's like this. You know the charm that everyone has been doing? The magic score charm?"

"Oh, yes. Someone did it to me behind my back down by the greenhouses. I think they thought I'd have a different score, though. They seemed disappointed anyhow."

"What was your score?"

"658."

Harry raised his eyebrows. He didn't want to look too impressed, but that was one of the highest scores in the younger years for sure. "Right, well. Good on you. The thing is, Hermione is doing a bit of a research project involving the charm. She's looking for anomalies or inconsistencies. She really wants to get a large amount of data from all sorts of people."

"So who is it you're wanting me to charm?"

He grinned. There was no beating around the bush with Luna. "Snape."

Without missing a beat she replied, "Sure. But have you asked him?"

"Asked him?" She had to be joking. You don't just ask Professor Snape if you can point your wand at him and charm him.

"Why, yes. You might think you need to be sneaky about it, but maybe you don't. He's leaving the hall now, I'll ask." Before he could stop her, Luna grabbed her apple laden bag and walked barefoot from the hall after the retreating form of Professor Snape. Harry walked after her but was sure to keep back far enough not to draw the man's suspicions. There was no way that the professor would cooperate if he knew that Harry 'just like his father' Potter was the one wanting the information.

He watched as Luna approached the stoic man and tapped him on the shoulder. Snape turned with the customary flare of his robes to face her and crossed his arms. This didn't look good. Luna prattled on for a moment while twirling her hair with one finger. She cocked her head to the side and gave him some big doe eyes. The professor rolled his eyes before looking back and forth for a moment as though making sure they weren't being watched. Then he nodded.

Harry's jaw slapped open as Luna took her wand and performed the charm. Above the professor were the numbers 767. She thanked him and was about to walk away when another number, 956, appeared even higher. Harry's hand slapped over his open mouth.

Luna cocked her head to the side and pointed to her necklace of butterbeer caps to which Snape shook his head. She then pranced away and Snape watched her go. With another flourish of the robes, he was gone.

When Luna goes to Harry she asked, "Did you see? I think he has a problem with wrackspurts too. I offered one of my necklaces but he didn't want it. Maybe if I painted it black."

Harry smirked at the image of a bottlecap necklace wearing Snape. "How did you get him to agree?"

"Oh, that? It was easy. I just told him that my father is doing an article on the effects of potion brewing on magical levels. I told him that some potions masters claim it can weaken a wizard's core after decades of brewing. He didn't want to look weak, so he agreed."

"Luna, you're brilliant," Harry smiled at his spacey friend.

"Why, thank you Harry Potter. If you take care of those wrackspurts then you can be too."

ooooooooooo

When Harry told Hermione what the numbers were she got so excited that she was practically jumping in her seat. Ron and Harry couldn't help but smile at their bookish friend's excitement.

"Don't you see what this means, Harry? You and Snape have one big thing that ties you together! I mean, I want to run some tests and figure it out for sure, but it seems pretty simple."

"It does?" asked Ron.

"Of course! Harry has his scar and Snape has the dark mark. Bingo!"

"Bingo? What's a bingo?"

"Muggle game, Ron. Now focus. I bet that the two numbers represent the difference in your scores based on the amount of magic being pulled to your scar and his mark. It makes total sense! I gotta get to the library." And with that, their friend was gone. Harry and Ron chuckled as they watched her race from the Great Hall in a flurry of wild hair.


	5. Chapter 5

The next couple of weeks passed with Hermione still deep in her notes in the library. She was madly searching for both an answer to the charm to support her theory as well as studying for her O.W.L.s. Harry and Ron kept out of her hair for the most part. They would occasionally drop in to make sure she was eating and sleeping.

For Harry, the dreams of Voldemort continued but now they were occasionally disrupted by images of Privet Drive. It seemed like he was paging through a book of his past, starting with the most recent years and moving backward. From the incident with the razor to the previous summer when Vernon would smack him around sometimes or lock him in his room. His aunt yelling at him for burning food.

The further and further back it got he started to realize that these were all real incidences, but for some reason, until recently they had only been foggy memories. He could have recalled them, but not in very much detail. Most of the time they didn't bother him too much, but there were a few times he woke up shaking and jumpy.

One night he had a dream that came from the summer after his third year. He woke up but sat in silence as the dream replayed in his mind.

_He had gotten in trouble in the days leading up to Aunt Marge's visit. He hadn't been allowed food for a couple of days and in an act of desperation had tried to take some scraps off of his aunt's breakfast plate when cleaning the dishes. Uncle Vernon had caught him._

_The beefy man yanked Harry's hand back from the plate and caused it to clatter and break in the sink. "What do you think you're doing, boy? You aren't allowed any more food. Not until you stop your freakishness. You ungrateful little brat!"_

_He pulled Harry over to the kitchen counter and yanked his arm down flat on top of it. Then he took a knife from the drawer next to him. A large carving knife. Harry started trembling and began to get his arm back. But it was like he was glued in place by his uncle's strength._

_"You know what they teach in the bible, boy? Do you freaks even know about the bible? Eye for an eye. We're going old school, boy. Back in the old days, they'd chop the hands off of thieves."_

_Harry was pulling harder and harder now. "No! I'm sorry, Uncle! I'm sorry! No!"_

_"I won't take the whole hand. This time. But this isn't the first time I've had to teach this lesson, is it? We've been down this road before, boy. When will you learn?"_

_He then took the knife and with a quick swipe, he cut across the inside of Harry's forearm. Blood quickly poured in a red river down his arm, onto the counter, and then dripping onto the floor. Harry shrieked and quickly covered the wound with his free hand as Uncle Vernon let go._

_Aunt Petunia craned her extra-long neck around the doorway. "Vernon. The neighbors."_

_"Yes, Pet," Vernon responded. He turned his red face back to Harry then grabbed his mouth within his meaty hand, squeezing his cheeks in. "You keep quiet, freak. Clean up this mess. No more food for three more days." Then he stormed out and into the living room to watch his tv programs._

_Harry stood in the empty kitchen whimpering as blood dripped to the floor._

With shaking hands, Harry pulled the sleeve back on his pj's. There, on his forearm, was another thin, long scar. As he rubbed his fingers over it he remembered Vernon's words. This isn't the first time I've had to teach this lesson, is it? Harry jumped off his bed and nearly shrieked at the memories that further surfaced along with more scars. All along both arms were a criss-cross patchwork of scars. All of them remembrances of times that Vernon caught Harry in the act of stealing. Mostly food. They dated back over many years, down to his early childhood.

Harry was trembling all over as he yanked the sleeves back down his arms. He lay back down on his bed and rolled his face into his pillow to stifle his sobs. Eventually, he fell back into a fitful sleep.

ooooooooo

Harry wasn't too surprised the next day to find the scars had disappeared. He never mentioned them to Ron or anyone else. Ron and he were sitting down to lunch when Hermione bounded up to them and sat down with a plop.

"I have it! I know how we can test my theory."

"How can we do that? We can't exactly remove Harry's scar or Snape's mark, now can we?" Ron asked as he shoveled food onto his plate.

"No, but I modified the charm. It now will show numbers as they are affected by dark magic. So, if my theory is correct and this charm works, then the score which is effected by dark magic will appear as a different number. If it isn't dark magic, then the numbers will remain the same color."

"That's brilliant, Hermione. You are really a genius, aren't you?" Ron grinned at her around a mouthful of a turkey sandwich. She blushed.

"Well, obviously we can't test it right this moment. But I see Luna over there, want me to go ask her to charm Snape again?"

"Yeah, I think he'll agree. Her lie about the article works to our advantage. It gives her a good alibi."

"Right. What's the charm?" Harry asked as he started to stand, popping one last bite of a biscuit into his mouth.

Hermione scribbled it down on a spare scrap of parchment she pulled out of her bag. "I know she'll pronounce it right, so no worries there."

Harry nodded and took the parchment. Without looking at it he walked to Luna at the Ravenclaw table. She was once again swinging her feet which were now in mismatched brightly colored socks. The Quibbler was perched in front of her, propped up by the salt and pepper shakers. This time upside down.

"Hey, Luna."

"Hello, Harry. Those wrackspurts are really giving you a hard time, aren't they?"

"Um, yeah. I guess so. So, Luna?"

"Yes, Harry?" She tucked some hair behind her ear and gave him her dreamy smile. He kind of felt bad about asking for her help again without talking to her in the last few weeks. So he improvised.

"Did your roommates steal your shoes again? It's pretty cold out today." He sat down across from her and she put the Quibbler away.

"Oh, yes. But don't worry. I've cast some good heating charms on my socks. They are rather wonderful. Professor Dumbledore knit them for me."

"He did?" Harry's eyebrows were raised high. He smiled at the thought of the kind headmaster sitting in his office and knitting the socks for Luna.

"Oh, yes. He's quite a talented knitter. Does it the muggle way. But you didn't come over to talk about footwear, did you, Harry? Do you have something to ask me?" Her expression never changed. She wasn't upset that he was asking for her help again.

Harry smiled. "You caught me. Yes, we were wondering if you could charm Snape again? You could say it's more research for your father's article?"

"Of course. No problem. I'm always happy to help a friend."

"Thanks, Luna, you're the best. Hermoine modified the charm a bit," he said as he handed her the bit of parchment.

Luna looked at the words for the spell a moment with head cocked to the side. "You think Professor Snape has dark magic at work? He seems like a good wizard to me."

"Snape, good? Yeah. If you ignore the whole dungeon bat persona."

"Appearances can be deceiving, Harry Potter. Don't ever judge a person too quickly or you might miss making an important life-changing connection."

Harry stared at Luna a moment as he took her words in. With thoughts of her, Peter Pettigrew, and Sirius in his head he had to agree she was right.

"We just want to rule a theory out. We really appreciate it, Luna."

She just smiled and stood up as once again, Snape was on his way out of the Great Hall. Perfect timing.

Harry hung back in the shadows once again. Luna approached the professor and delicately tapped his shoulder. Their conversation was short with him nodding his head quickly. She performed the spell. The same two numbers came into view above Snape's head. The first was 767 and it was black. The second was 956 and it was red.

Luna's face fell. She got a pained look in her eyes as she thanked the professor and turned away. The professor seemed to shrug off the whole experience and stalked off.

As Luna approached Harry she said, "Satisfied? I guess you were right to think the worst of him." Harry patted her on the shoulder awkwardly in an attempt to console her. She cocked her head to the side then straightened back up. "But I know his heart. It's good."

Harry dropped his hand back down and said, "Please keep believing that Luna. We all need you to. And thank you again for your help."

She gave him a small smile before shuffling away in her colored socks.


	6. Chapter 6

Later that evening the trio finally had a moment to themselves in the common room. Now that they knew the spell would work they figured it was better that fewer saw them perform the spell on Harry. Too many already thought he was losing his marbles with claiming Voldemort was back.

They sat around the fire and Hermione wasted no time before pulling her wand. "Planimus Magicae Seperatum Tenebris"

Above Harry wavered one number in black. 698. The same as the lower number last time. Hermoine was practically holding her breath, watching the magic she created working. Next a number they didn't expect showed. 762. In quick succession was a third number, 845, which was the same as Harry's previous highest number. Both the last two numbers were in red.

The three sat in silence for a few moments before Ron shattered the still.

"Blimey. What the hell does that mean?"

"I…I wish I knew," Hermione said. Both she and Ron were staring at Harry. Just another thing for them to be baffled by him.

"Well, this is just great. I'm such a bloody freak." He stood quickly and made to go up to the dormitories. But Hermione called out to him.

"Don't worry, Harry. I will find the reason for this. I'm sure it's perfectly logical. You're not a freak."

He stared at her with a blank expression. Then turned and continued up to the dorms and another night filled with nightmares.

ooooooo

Hermione kept her word and continued to research and find an answer for Harry's multiple magic scores. But a the same time, it was getting closer and closer to the end of the semester and therefore O.W.L.s. Her nerves were fried and panic attacks were a regular occurrence.

Harry in the meanwhile was progressively being awoken by visions of dark hallways and spinning rooms. But when he wasn't getting visions from Voldemort, he was having dreams of his past within the Dursley Household.

Another night had him in the bathroom, leaning over the sink to rinse off his face and erase the memory from behind his eyes. But it persisted.

_Harry must have been around 10 years old. He was ironing his uncle's shirt for the next day. In the middle of his task, Dudley came running in and started to push him around._

__

_"What you up to, freak? Freaky things, freak? Peers is coming over tonight for a slumber party. You better not bother us!"_

__

_Harry tried to push around Dudley and get back to his chore. The iron was left sitting, metal down, in the middle of the back of his uncle's shirt. It quickly began to smoke._

__

_"Dudley! Move it you fat lard! I'm busy!"_

__

_Aunt Petunia came into the room and saw the iron on the smoldering shirt. She squealed before quickly moving it off, but the damage had been done. A large, black print was burned into his uncle's shirt._

__

_Dudley stalked off, proud of himself. Harry was pretty certain that had been his goal all along. His Aunt came at him and grabbed his arm. She pulled him toward her and held up his uncle's burned shirt, shoving it in his face._

__

_"You disgraceful little shit! Look what you did! One of your uncle's best shirts, ruined! After all we do for you. Clothe you, feed you, give you a roof over your head. This is how you repay us! By destroying our things! See how you like it!"_

__

_Then she pulled him over to the ironing board and held him down on it with one hand. "You stay there!" Harry was so scared that he did as she asked and stayed still as she yanked his shirt up, exposing his bareback. Then before he could move she yelled out. "Dudikins! Mommy needs you!"_

__

_Dudley came marching back into the room with a large grin on his fat face. "What you doing mom? Punishing the freak?"_

__

_"Yes, dearie Dudums. Hold him down for me."_

__

_Harry finally realized what her plan was and quickly tried to pull away, but Dudley was faster. He grabbed both the smaller boy's arms and pushed him back down onto the ironing board. Then he laughed as his mom grabbed the iron._

__

_The sound and smell of burning flesh filled the room. His aunt smeared the iron around on his lower and middle back, leaving a large, bright burn that had Harry screaming in agony._

Harry stood up straight from the sink and looked at his dripping reflection. Where were these dreams coming from? They were definitely from his past, but why where they suddenly popping up?

He frequently was having flashbacks while awake, too. He'd be in the middle of class and the teacher would say something completely innocent like "Put all your things away, now!" And he'd be back in Privet Drive watching as his uncle threw all his possessions, the few he had been allowed in his cupboard, into the garbage can. All because he had left a school library book on the table.

His friends had noticed. He would daze off into space and many times get pale and breathe quickly. They probably thought it was Voldemort episodes or something. It was easy to be a freaking weirdo when you had already earned the reputation.

He rubbed a towel over his face to dry off before turning his back to the mirror. Lifting his pajama shirt he peered back over his shoulder and looked in the mirror at his lower back. There was a shiny, puckered burn that spread over the whole lower half of his back. He yanked the shirt back down and promised not to look again until he was sure it had disappeared.

ooooooooo

Harry was right that Ron and Hermione had noticed something was up. Hermione in particular, naturally. The two of them were sitting in the library the next evening as Harry was in "remedial potions" with Snape.

"Ron, I'm worried about Harry. Have you noticed that he's acting a bit….jumpy?" Hermione asked.

"Well, I mean sure. But with 'you-know-who' in your head all the time, what do you expect? I'd be jumpy too," Ron answered as he sneakily read over Hermione's Transfiguration notes. "Did you really mean that you can't transfigure a mouse and feed it real cheese? Why?"

"Because all transfigured animals can't be fed real food or else they'll revert to their pre-transfigured form. It falls under the same law of why you can't conjure food. Now focus, Ron. Didn't you notice that Harry's behavior is getting weirder and weirder? He dazes off in the middle of class and stuff. His visions only happen when he's dreaming. So what's happening while he's awake?"

"I don't know, Hermione. Maybe he's just tired, you know? He has nightmares all the time lately. Not to mention all the work the professors are giving us and prepping for O.W.L.s. It's exhausting!"

"I don't know. Something seems wrong. Like, really up with him, you know? Have you noticed anything weird at night in the dorms? Besides the 'you-know-who' stuff?" Hermione was tapping her quill on the side of her face, leaving a smudge of ink along her jaw.

"Well…..there was this one thing…." Ron couldn't look her in the eye. He felt bad that he hadn't told her before, but Harry had seemed to not want it talked about. He stared at the ink smudge on her face.

"What, Ron? What happened?"

"Well, it was really weird. It happened like, a month or two ago? I don't remember exactly. But we were getting ready for bed and Harry just dazed off. You know, like he does," as he talked he slowly started to look her back in the eye again. Focus darting back and forth from her inky cheek to her concerned expression.

"Yeah, like in class. Right?"

"Right. This must have been one of the first times he did that. Then I saw it. There was something on his face. Like a mark."

Hermione gasped, "A mark? Like the dark mark?"

"No, not like that. This one was like a scar. It ran down his face like this," he moved a finger down his cheek. "It was wicked."

"A scar? Not a scratch or a cut? But already healed?" Now her eyebrows were pulled together in puzzlement.

"Yeah, it was so weird. I wanted him to go see Madame Pomfrey, but he refused. He didn't want to be caught out after curfew and get another detention. So he promised to go first thing in the morning." By this point, he had let his guilt go and was totally wrapped up in telling Hermione the story. He realized now that he should have told her ages ago.

"So Madame Pomfrey checked it out?"

"That's the weirdest part. The next morning it was gone. Just vanished. Like, I kind of questioned if I had seen it in the first place."

"What?"

"I know, so bizarre. He seemed so relieved. And what was I supposed to say? 'Hey Madame Pomfrey, Harry has a scar that isn't there anymore.' She'd think I was mental!"

"That sounds really far fetched, Ron. Are you certain you weren't imagining it? Maybe it was a dream?"

"No, I know what I saw. It was definitely there. And he seemed really freaked out by it."

"Well, I would be too. A random scar showing up on my face."

Ron shook his head, "No, not like confused. But like scared. Pale and shaking and stuff. Like after he saw my dad getting attacked."

"Huh. I wonder…..surely not. That's a lot of magic…" Hermione was deep in thought. Ron recognized that face.

"You're onto something, aren't you?"

Without answering she ran off into the library stacks in pursuit of something. Ron sighed and pulled her Transfiguration notes closer, copying them down word for word.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please be sure you've read the tags! You have been warned!

It was the days leading up to the O.W.L.s and the fifth years were into total lockdown mode, studying at all hours. The three friends were frequently found nestled in a corner of the library or the common room, books spread around them, quizzing each other mercilessly.

Hermione decided to have some fun with her quizzing of the boys one day in an attempt to break the tension. She had them both sitting before her in chairs.

"Okay guys, we're doing this game show style. First to answer gets a point."

"Game show?" Ron asked.

"Muggle television," Harry answered. Ron shrugged. "Just try to get more points than me and you win."

"Oh! I like winning. What do I win?"

Hermione grinned, "You will get the best gift of all. Copies of all my History of Magic notes." Both Ron and Harry sat up a little straighter at that. Hermione giggled, "Oh, seriously boys. As if I don't already let you look at them."

"Yes, but to have unfettered access at all times? I'm definitely winning this," Harry said with a big grin.

"Okay, then let's start. First question. What is the one ingredient that is prepared differently between Draught of Living Death and Draught of Peaceful Existence?"

Harry raised his hand…slowly. Hermione pointed at him. "Bicorn horn?"

"Yes…and for an extra point how does it differ between the two?"

"You…powder it for Living Death and…um…. pulverize it for Peaceful Existence?"

"No, but close. It's crushed for Peaceful Existence."

Ron laughed a little at Harry's answer. "Pulverized? Is anything ever pulverized in potions?"

Harry laughed and answered, "Only Neville's confidence every time he's in front of Snape."

"Touché"

Hermione rolled her eyes, "For your information, Bardon's Beatles are pulverized when making Amortentia, but that's beside the point. Question two. What do you get….."

Harry started to tune Hermione out as he was distracted by something out of the corner of his eye. Over on the couch by the fireplace were George Weasley and Angelina Johnson. Couples were frequently getting into amorous activities within the common room in recent days with Umbridge going on a full rampage around the school. George and Angelina had been dating pretty steadily for a few months and frequently were seen getting hot and heavy. They were now fully involved with each other and things were quickly escalating into unsuitable for company territory.

As Harry unabashedly watched, Angelina slid closer into George's embrace. His hands moved from her hair to her shirt and eventually wiggled underneath onto bare skin. She started to slide onto his lap when Katie Bell interrupted them. Harry couldn't hear the conversation, but Katy's hands were on her hips and she tried to scold them, but in true George Weasley fashion, he ignored Katy and settled Angelina on his lap, facing out into the room.

Angelina kept talking with Katy as George continued to fondle her. He was kissing her neck and while one hand was smoothing over an exposed patch of her stomach another hand was dipping below the waistband of her pants, just slightly.

Harry's mind blurred. While his gaze was still looking towards the couch with the young lovers, his attention was on a moment in the distant past.

_It was a Friday afternoon after school. His aunt had forgotten to pick him up from school. Again. So his teacher had dropped him off in another classroom with a designated teacher who watched kids that were picked up late. It was nearing the end of the workday and all the other kids had been picked up, leaving Harry the last one._

_He had been coloring to himself, quietly, when the teacher sat down next to him. "Hey there, Harry. What are you coloring?"_

_"It's my home. And family."_

_The man pulled the paper closer to himself and looked closer, "So who is this?" Harry craned his neck to try and see who the man was pointing at. "Here, come sit here so you can see better," he said while tapping his knee._

_Harry lifted his young body up and perched himself on the teacher's knee. The man wasn't nearly as big as Uncle Vernon, but Harry was still really small at only seven years old. So it was fairly comfortable. "Oh, that's my aunt."_

_"Ah. And is she cooking dinner?"_

_"Yes! That's a pan in her hand. And that's my uncle and Dudley watching tv," Harry said as he pointed to the two round figures sitting on a couch._

_nothin'," Harry said in his tiny voice as he swung his legs back and forth, knocking his teacher in his shins with his dirty shoes._

_"Well, your uncle has obviously never seen your drawings. I can tell you put a lot of effort into these. But where are you?" The man was rubbing his back. It felt nice._

_"Me? Oh, I haven't drawn me." His voice was smaller._

_"Let's fix that. Here, come sit like this," he swung Harry to where he was fully facing out towards the table with his legs on either side of the teacher's thighs. "Now I want you to draw yourself. Show me what you normally do at home. Are you helping your aunt? Or watching tv with your uncle?"_

_Harry picked through the crayons in the plastic tub in front of him. Most were broken and had their paper ripped off, so it was sometimes hard to find the exact color he wanted. He always loved drawing. The smell of the crayons always made him happy. "No, no. I'd be in my room, over here."_

_He proceeded to draw a brown box with jagged looking stairs going overhead. Inside the box was a little stick figure sitting in a ball. "I can't really stand up in my room, but it's nice." He started to decorate his room with little spiders and broken toys._

_As he drew, the man continued to rub at his back. It felt so nice to have an adult's full attention. He even thought that Harry was talented. Maybe he wasn't such a useless freak after all. Maybe if his uncle saw his drawing, he would agree with the nice man._

_Harry continued to draw and perfect his artwork. He didn't mind when the man pulled Harry back so that his little hips were flush against the man's abdomen. And when the man moved his stroking from Harry's back to his front, Harry barely noticed._

_It was as he was drawing more details into the kitchen around Aunt Petunia that Harry felt the man's hand pull at his shirt. His hand was now warm against Harry's tummy. Harry tried to keep drawing, but it was distracting to feel the teacher start to fiddle with the waistband of his shorts. It wasn't until he felt fingers dip inside the edge of his underwear that he realized that he felt something else different against his backside. Whatever it was, it was firm and prodding against Harry's slim figure._

_Harry stilled his movements and thought hard. The teacher was so nice. He was being kinder to Harry than anyone else really ever had. Maybe nice people did things like this? If his uncle or aunt touched him it usually hurt. But this didn't hurt. It just felt….weird._

_The teacher hadn't seemed to notice that Harry had stopped drawing. Instead, he pulled Harry's little body tighter against his own. His hands quietly and smoothly undid the zip and button on Harry's shorts, then dipped inside to touch what he found there. The thing pressing to his backside was persistent, and the teacher began to thrust slightly as though he was trying to get comfortable._

_Harry's breath sped up. He knew this wasn't normal. Other teachers never touched kids inside their pants. Harry dropped the crayon and gripped his own thighs in his hands. His fingers dug into his legs, finding stability there. His own fingers began to bring him pain. The pain was what he was familiar with. Pain was normal._

_The teacher's movements sped up. The hand inside his shorts was moving all over him, rubbing and cupping. The teacher was moaning quietly and panting._

_Harry focused on the pain his fingers brought him. They dug into the skin on his legs. His sharp nails were starting to draw blood. He whimpered._

_Things changed slightly. The man's movements were erratic and unrestrained for a few moments. Then, without warning, they stilled. He let out a long groan and Harry's nails pulled and dragged along his legs slightly, leaving bloody gouges. He felt the thing pushing his backside jerk and pulse._

_"You're such a good boy. Such a sweet boy. Thank you, Harry," came the man's voice. He sounded out of breath and his voice was deep._

_Harry just rubbed at his legs, smearing the blood around. As the man did up the fly and button on Harry's shorts another teacher spoke into the room from the doorway. All they could see was the back of the teacher. They probably couldn't even tell that Harry was sitting in his lap._

_"His aunt is here for him," they said and then left._

_"Okay, Harry. Time for you to go. Now you be a good boy, okay?" The man said as he stood Harry up and handed him his bag. Harry nodded his head and left the room, not meeting the man's eyes. The drawing laid forgotten on the table._

Hermione was rubbing up and down Harry's arms while Ron gently talked to him, "Come on there, Harry. Earth to Harry. Come back to us, mate."

Finally, Harry snapped out of it and pushed himself quickly away from Hermione's hands. He was sweating and dizzy. His vision was spotting and he felt like he couldn't get enough air.

"Harry? Come on, deep breaths. Calm down. You're okay," Hermione said to him. But he quickly stood up and ran for the dormitories. He heard the two of them running behind him up the stairs, but before they could catch up he had already locked himself in a bathroom stall.

He heaved over the porcelain bowl and lost his lunch. He breathed deeply and tried to calm his stomach but was still sick two more times before he was able to sit back. Tears were running down his cheeks.

"Harry? Can I get Madame Pomfrey for you?" Ron's voice came from the other side of the door.

"Yeah, Harry. Let's get her. Or can you make it to the hospital wing?" Hermione asked. She was in the boy's dormitory bathroom. Good grief this was embarrassing.

"N…n..," Harry coughed to clear his voice, "No. That's okay. I don't need her. I'll be fine." He tried and eventually undid the belt on his pants. His hands were shaking so bad they slipped over the metal and leather. Eventually, he pulled them down just far enough to expose four deep scars on each of his legs. They weren't long, but they were definitely there. They had stretched and grown with his skin as he had grown. He sobbed.

He heard two thumps as he assumed both Ron and Hermione were sitting down. "We're here for you Harry. When you are ready. We're not going anywhere," Hermione said in a quiet but steady voice. Harry just cried harder from within his locked stall, the smell of crayons burning in his nose.


	8. Chapter 8

Later that evening Ron and Hermione were sitting together on his bed. They spoke in quiet voices even though Hermione had cast a silencing charm around Harry's bed. He was finally asleep.

The two of them hadn't known what was best to do for their friend. They had been sitting downstairs having fun playing their quizzing game when they realized that Harry was dazing off in another direction. Ron was going to shake him to try and snap him out of it when Hermione stopped him.

She had suggested they try to gently bring Harry around. That being too rough could backfire. So they sat with him and gently coaxed him around. Their concern quickly grew as Harry paled and seemed to break down in front of them. He had run upstairs and into the bathroom so quickly that fortunately, no one else in the common room had realized that anything was wrong.

Hearing Harry be sick and then cry behind the door had been heart-wrenching. Hermione had wanted to go get Madame Pomfrey, but this time it was Ron that had stopped her. He knew that Harry would be so embarrassed by the whole event and would be mortified if the whole of Gryffindor had seen the school mediwitch going to his aide. She had to agree, and it seemed to be more of an emotional problem than a medical one. After he had finally emerged from the stall looking like he had been run over with a lorry, he quietly got into bed and remained there, curled into a ball, until he eventually fell to sleep.

So now the two friends were in quiet discussion. They were desperate to find a way to help their friend.

"He isn't going to just choose to open up to us. At least not anytime soon. He hasn't really ever been super forthcoming with sensitive and deeply personal matters, has he?" Hermione was saying.

"But what do you think is causing all this? He's always been pretty normal, happy Harry. Even when he was going through really scary shit before, the worst he did was get angry and, well, sassy," Ron was hunched over his own pillow that he had pulled up to his chest. Hermione silently wondered if he had had a favorite stuffed animal as a kid.

"It's hard to know what triggered him. He certainly has been through a lot of shit, as you so eloquently put it. Maybe it's all just coming to a head? You know, the straw that broke the camel's back and all. Whatever it was, we need to get to the bottom of this. It's almost the end of the semester and I can't imagine him going to live with those awful relatives like this. They aren't exactly going to help matters."

Ron shook his head and growled low in his throat, "Those bloody relatives of his are only going to make things worse. But it's not like we can force it out of him either."

Hermione twisted her mouth in concentration. There was a moment of total quiet. Suddenly, with complete resolve, she stood up, "I think I'm onto something with his magical score numbers. There's something there, I just know it. I just need to figure out what the underlying cause is and how to break it." She turned to leave but then stopped and looked back at Ron. "Just….keep an eye on him, will you? Even though he may not talk about it, I know he appreciates having a friend close."

Ron gave her a small half-smile, "You know me, Mione. I'm not going anywhere. And I know you'll figure it out."

She smiled back and gave Harry's sleeping lump a concerned look before leaving the room.

Ron settled himself under his blankets and turned on his side to face Harry. "I'm here for you, mate. Just don't go where I can't follow, okay?"

oooooooo

When Harry woke up the following morning he gave Ron a shy smile, then played off as if nothing had happened. Ron was only too relieved to act the same. He was mature enough to realize that Harry's behavior did not mean all was well, but without having any idea what to do for his friend, he would take the path of least resistance.

Hermione was fortunately quick to find the solution she was looking for. She met them at lunch after missing the whole morning, lost amongst the library stacks. Before she sat down she gave Harry a big hug. He had jerked so hard he had spilled his pumpkin juice all over his half-eaten plate.

"Sorry. I'm just…well…..I'm just glad to see you. We need to talk later, okay? Somewhere away from certain people," she said as she looked towards the teachers and Umbridge, who was now presiding over the whole school in Dumbledore's absence.

Harry was relieved that it seemed whatever she wanted wasn't relating to his episode the previous night. He softened his stiff body and nodded, "Common room after lunch? We still have a free period for studying."

It was the day before O.W.L.s and it was amazing that Hermione had taken time away from her busy studying schedule to help Harry. But at this point, she had basically read all the material backward to front several times over.

"No, I think the Room of Requirement would be better. No prying eyes, you know?"

Ron and Harry were both curious now. They quickly finished their meals and the trio made their way to the corridor on the seventh floor. Hermione walked back and forth and the door revealed itself to the room. Inside Harry was surprised to find the room they had used all year for Dumbledore's Army.

She shrugged, "It was the first thing that came to mind." She pulled Harry into the middle of the room talking the whole way, "So I had an idea as to why you have three numbers now. The first time, before we separated the dark magic at work, the lower number showed your current magic available. The higher number is your magic potential if there were no underlying magics at work. My theory was that your scar was somehow draining your magic."

"Umm, okay," Harry said.

"So, then the second time we cast the charm and separated out the dark magic at work, we saw that there were still other magics involved. Something that is lowering your magic potential, but isn't dark." She took out her wand and had a parchment with notes written on it in one hand.

"What kind of magic? Like a love spell or something?" Ron asked. He stood a ways away, ready to observe whatever Hermione had planned.

"Well, I doubt it's a love spell. Unless you've been feeling uncontrolled attraction to someone?" she asked Harry to which he emphatically shook his head. He hadn't felt anything about anyone since the disaster with Cho a few months previously. "Right, so I don't think that's it. I think if it were something someone cast on you, then we'd either notice it or it would be dark magic. The only thing that really made sense to me is that it's subconscious magic."

"Subconscious? Like I'm not even meaning to use it?" Harry cocked his head and was thinking about what that could mean. It was all so confusing.

"Exactly. There are lots of reasons for people using subconscious magic, whether it's recent or not. You could have been doing it for years, or just these last few months."

"Is this sort of like accidental magic? Like when we're really upset or a when we're kids first learning?" Ron asked.

"Sort of. It's usually more subtle than that. Many times it may not even be noticeable, but underlying. Also, in this situation, it obviously is ongoing. Instead of a short burst of magic like a spell, it's something that is constantly using your magic.

"But it's easy enough to figure out. I have a spell here that halts any subconscious magic." She seemed so eager to try it out. Hermione with a new spell was like a dog with a bone.

Harry suddenly started getting nervous, "Are you sure we should? I mean, maybe it's something that protects me from Voldemort or something. Doesn't your subconscious protect you from things sometimes?"

Hermione paused at that but then gave him a calm expression, "Whatever it is, it's probably not a relevant problem right now. You're safe here, with us. And if it is a problem, I have a counter charm. So I can set it back very quickly. Wouldn't you at least like to know what it is?"

She knew how to play him. He would always wonder what was going on with his magic, just like he would always wonder what Voldemort was up to and wouldn't completely block him. Harry was sure his curiosity would be his doom someday. He sighed and held out his hands, "Give it your best shot."

Hermione consulted her piece of parchment one last time before pointing her wand, "Altum Animo Stabit"

Harry didn't feel any different. He looked down at himself and didn't see anything either. No missing limbs or anything weird happening. "Huh, I guess it wasn't…what?" He looked up to see both his friends staring at him with gaping mouths. "What is it?"

"Oh, Harry. Where did you get that?" Hermoine asked as she reached her hand out slightly.

Harry looked to Ron who now looked a bit sad. "It's back, mate."

He then figured it out. His hand reached up to his face and could clearly feel a ridge on his cheek where the scar was. He looked to the ground and started to finger other areas of his body. They were all there. The cuts on his arms. The massive burn on his back. He didn't need to feel his thighs to know the gouges from his own fingers were there too. There were even others he hadn't remembered yet but remembered now. It all came flooding back into his mind.

He had rope burns on his wrists from being tied for two days to a pipe in the corner of his cupboard. He had teeth and claw marks on his legs from Aunt Marge's dog attacking him. He had an odd, ringed burn on his hand from Aunt Petunia pressing his hand to the stovetop. He was riddled with all sorts of hallmarks from his years at Privet Drive. While he couldn't see them all with his clothes on, the memories were all there now in full force.

It seemed part of his subconscious magic had protected him for the true horrors of what all had happened in his childhood. But it was all there, under the surface. Every slap, every punch to the gut, every cooking pan to the back of the head. He knew without needing to even look that his body was practically a kaleidoscope of scar tissue. He stood stock-still as Ron and Hermione stared back in shock.

"Harry. Harry, look at me," Hermione said in a voice like she was approaching a wounded animal.

"Put it back," came his voice. Flat.

"Please, Harry. Look at me. It's oka.."

"IT'S NOT OKAY!" He yelled into the room. He then looked up at Hermione and saw her weepy eyes. "Just put it back, please. Please, Hermione." His voice now sounded like a croak.

"I…I think…," she started timidly.

"Do as he says, Hermione," Ron said. His head was lowered but his eyes were on her. His jaw jutted out. Harry was grateful that Ron understood.

She looked back and forth between her two best friends. Then she raised her wand, "Patitur Altum Animo"

He didn't feel anything different so he rubbed his face and was relieved to feel the scar was gone. Before Hermione could say anything else Harry pushed past her and fled the room.


	9. Chapter 9

Harry knew he couldn't go back to the dorms just yet. It was still midday so there were too many people and Ron and Hermione would obviously follow him there. So instead, he kept his head down and walked swiftly and aimlessly around the castle for a while until he found a tucked-away alcove leading up a set of stairs to the back of the owlery. There he let himself break down for while.

The scars were gone. He couldn't see or feel them. But apparently, once you remember something your subconscious mind had blocked, you can't block it again. It was like pandora's box. The memories were there, all at once. He was flooded with every story behind each of his hidden scars. And there were plenty more stories that hadn't left scars but were still troubling in their own way.

He hadn't remembered that his uncle liked to use the belt so much. Or that his cousin had several times pounded him so hard he had lost consciousness. So many small moments that had been covered up in a sea of protective magic. He always knew that he had had a hard time at home. But the sheer quantity of the abuse now left him a puddle on the floor in the discarded area of the castle. He stayed there for hours and wept.

He had never missed his mother as much as that moment. He wrapped his arms around himself and pretended it was her. He rocked as he silently cried. Years ago he had developed a habit of only crying silently. It was a survival technique to protect himself and he now realized why it was so important. But it did leave him with an aching jaw as he keened through clenched teeth. The pain radiated up into his head and left him almost nauseous. Still, he continued on in his misery.

oooooooo

After he eventually calmed down it was close to curfew, so he wound his way back through the castle and eventually came to the common room. The fat lady had tried to console his dreary demeanor, "Oh, sweet boy. It's all going to be okay." But he ignored her and just gave the password. If everyone kept telling him it was okay he would find himself pulling out his own hair before all was said and done.

Ron and Hermione were by the fire waiting for him. There were a few students still hanging around and cramming for tests, so he appreciated that they let him come to them. They didn't say a word as he snuggled into a corner of the couch.

"I'll talk, but not right now. I….I can't have an audience. Okay?" He was proud his voice remained level.

They both nodded and turned to studying. But they unsurprisingly weren't turning many pages or talked through much of what they were supposedly cramming. It was a couple of hours later before the final student gave up on any last-minute advantage and eventually headed to bed. None of them seemed surprised to see Hermione still at the books or Ron and Harry at her side.

As soon as the door closed his two friends looked at him with open compassion and expectation. He gave them a grim smile of appreciation before giving a big sigh and starting in.

"It wasn't just that one scar." He said at first but then paused. How much was he really willing to say?

Ron couldn't leave the silence alone, "Was it you-know-who? Did he, you know, torture you or something? In the graveyard?" Obviously he had been searching through their years together to come up with a plausible explanation. Harry had to admit, that would make sense. And for a moment he wanted to say yes. It was easier to pin it all on that one night instead of the years throughout his childhood.

"No, it wasn't Voldemort." He watched as Ron flinched a little but Hermione tipped her head to the side in consideration.

"Who then Harry? Who did this? Umbridge?"

Harry could understand that reasoning too. She had left him with one of the scars that were hidden. "Well, not really. Turns out the blood quill did scar, but that's not it." He sat and worked to stall his anxiety. He took deep breaths for a moment while Ron and Hermione watched with confused frowns.

"I…it…." he paused again on the threshold. Either he told them everything, or he just scratched the surface. For so long in his life he had always held back on the blunt truth of things, only skimming hurtful subjects to protect himself. He was tired. And so he decided to let it out. "Hermione, can you do the spell again?"

She nodded her head and pulled her wand, whispering the spell. Harry waited a moment before feeling his face, being sure that the spell had taken effect. There was the long scar along his face. Inhale, "Last summer I was stupid enough to ask my uncle for help teaching me how to shave. His lesson was to do this." He heard Ron gasp as he covered his mouth and Hermione whimpered.

He pulled the sleeves up on his arms, revealing the multitude of crisscrossing scars alongside the marks on his wrists from the chains. Ron looked pained but Hermione predictably drew the wrong conclusion quickly, "Oh Harry, did you….?"

"No, no. My uncle again. Every time he caught me stealing, usually food, he would tell me about the old laws of cutting off thieves hands while he'd add another line to the collection. The first was when I was 4 years old." Without waiting, he turned his back to them and pulled his shirt up. "It wasn't just him, either. This was my aunt after I burned my uncle's dress shirt with the iron. She had Dudley hold me down. The smell stayed in the house for weeks." He pulled the shirt a bit higher. "He liked to use his belt, too," Harry said as he exposed the jagged gouges left from the buckle end. He felt a movement of air behind him and was pretty sure Hermione was reaching out to touch him. As he turned around his suspicions were found true as Ron was holding onto her hand. He had apparetnly stalled her hand. Harry shot him a small smile of gratitude.

He raised his hand up, palm out, "I burned the dinner so she burned my hand." Then he rolled up his pant legs to the knees. "Aunt Marge's dog attacked me while everyone else cheered it on." He put the pants back down. He didn't show any others, including the nail marks on his thighs from the teacher molesting him. As good as it felt to get it out, he wasn't ready to face that.

"There are others. I remember them all now. I think…..I guess my magic protected me. It healed me and hid the scars and the memories. I remembered that they were bad, but it didn't seem all that bad, you know? But now…..now it's all there. And it's just open. Fresh."

Harry sat back and hugged himself. He realized at some point he had started crying but heard sniffling next to him and knew he wasn't the only one. He didn't like to think that he made Hermione cry so he looked up to her, "Don…." but was cut off as he realized that it wasn't just Hermione. Ron had wide tear tracks down his cheeks and the two friends were clasping each other's hands.

"I…I'm sorry," Harry said.

Hermione immediately started shaking her head hard and leaned forward eagerly, "Don't be sorry, Harry. Don't you dare be sorry. Ca…can I…." she took a shuddering breath, "Can I hug you?"

Harry nodded numbly immediately, wanting to give her anything she wanted. But, as she pulled him close he only gave her a feeble hug back. He realized he wasn't quite ready for her physical affection. He felt like he might make her dirty. But he held his tongue and she let go fairly quickly.

"This ends now, Harry. You're never going back there," she said as she released him. He sat back on the couch again and saw Ron nodding his head in agreement.

"But Dumbledore…" Harry started.

"Fuck Dumbledore!" Ron bit out with an emotional strained croak. "Listen, Harry. I know you respect the man, but no! I don't care what the old codger says. There's no way we're letting you go back to them. Those….those…..fucking pissing bloody…." Ron continued on with a number of words that would have had Mrs. Weasley grounding him until NEWTS. Harry couldn't help but smile.

"Fucking right!" Hermione yelped out, surprising herself with her own profanity. Then all three friends shook with giggles. The tension was broken and the tears stopped. After they had calmed themselves Harry looked as both his friends both drew serious and resolved expressions. "Harry, there's no way. I know Dumbledore has always said you have to go back there, but he isn't even here right now, is he? We have to tell someone and get you out. Okay? We'll tell Sirius. I know he can't take you in legally, but he won't stand by while you go back there. He'll take you away to some remote island before letting that happen. Remember, your da's family took him in, right? Don't you think there was a reason for that?"

Harry gulped and nodded. Hermione was right. Sirius would understand better than anyone. He hadn't been loved by his family, either. He wouldn't let Harry go back to the Dursley's and face more abuse.

Harry felt his breathing speed up. Abuse. That was the first time he had called it that to himself. Was that what he was? An abused child? He knew deep down that he was, but he wasn't ready to look there. Not yet. One step at a time.

Harry calmed down again and let himself appreciate what his friends were saying. They were right, there was no way that Sirus would let him go back to the Dursley's knowing what happens to Harry there. "Yeah, yeah you're right. We'll talk with Sirius and he'll make sure I don't back there. Thanks, guys."

Hermione unfortunately sniffled a bit and then lunged forward and wrapped him in a big hug. While he did startle at first, he was pleased that he didn't totally panic within her embrace. He patted her back as she babbled at him. "You didn't deserve this, Harry. Those people are awful. We love you, Harry," sob, "We'll make sure you don't back. We're such awful friends. We should have…should have…."

Harry pushed her way and cut her off, "Should have what, Hermione? You didn't know. Heck, I didn't even know. Okay? But now we all do. So, we can change it, right?"

"Exactly, mate. It will be different now," Ron said as he gave him a firm expression. Harry breathed a moment and then asked Hermione to put the spell back, which she did. They snuggled briefly more before departing to their dorms for the night. The next day was OWLs. It would all be different.


	10. Chapter 10

Ron and Hermione sat together in the hospital wing. Harry was up in Dumbledore's office, having who knew what kind of discussion after the fiasco at the Department of Mysteries. Both Ron and Hermione had been injured. Ron by the brains, Hermione by Dolohov's curse.

Ron was pretty much healed, so he had pulled a chair alongside her bed and was talking with her in a hushed voice, trying not to alert Madame Pomfrey to their forgoing rest. "Shit, Mione. What a bloody mess. Poor Harry. He loved Sirius so much."

Hermione was fairly weak but still found energy to worry about Harry. "He did, that's for sure. Harry loves hard, doesn't he? This is going to devastate him, Ron. We have to make sure he's going to be okay. We both know he won't do what he needs to do to get out of that house."

It took Ron a moment to understand the exact implication she was making. A lot had happened since Harry's confession by the common room fire. It had simply been put on the back burner in his mind that they had planned on talking with Sirius somehow before the end of term. "Well, now that Sirius is gone, what can we do? Who will get him out?"

Hermione bit her lip a moment before replying, "We'll just have to talk to Dumbledore ourselves. I mean, I know he has always said that Harry has to go back, but surely if he really knew…"

Ron nodded and with that, they had a plan formed to help their friend.

oooooooo

Harry was in a mental fog of hopelessness. He knew he was feeling sorry for himself but he also was still deeply hurt and frustrated with everything that had happened, especially with Dumbledore.

On top of now knowing the true horrors of his childhood, he lost his godfather, the one person he was hoping would rescue from his abuse. And he found out the prophecy, which guaranteed that he would either become a murderer or be killed himself. At the moment, he didn't really feel bad at the idea that he had to kill someone, but would he be able to do it?

Harry was on his bed in his dorm room, killing the last few hours while everyone was getting prepared to leave. Downstairs he knew there were lots of cheerful goodbyes and hugs going on. Promises of great summers and happiness. Not in any way the kind of environment he wanted to be in.

Ron and Hermione eventually joined him and for a little while, just sat with him in silence. He had apologized to both of them repeatedly for getting them involved in the Department of Mysteries and getting them both hurt. They brushed him off.

"Harry, we…..we want you to know that we're working to get you out of there. Okay? We aren't letting you go back." She was twisting her hands in her lap, seemingly fighting to keep herself from reaching out to him.

With a glazed expression, he turned to face her and gave her a weak smile, "Yeah, Hermione. Thanks. But it's like you said, Dumbledore is basically missing in action and he's the only one with any power over where I go. Thanks, though. I know you care, and that means a lot." He turned back to looking out the window next to his bed. He could feel his two friends's looking at each other with concern, but he didn't know what else to say. The fact was, his fate was pretty much sealed. Dumbledore was the only one who could remove him and the man had shown Harry how he really felt. While Harry may be abused, he was never in any real risk since the only one that could kill him was Voldemort.

He had to prepare and focus on ending that mad man. It was his purpose in life and perhaps the way his life would end. Nothing else mattered, did it?

oooooooo

The inside of number four, Privet Drive felt different. While there were no misconceptions, he had always felt unwelcome, it now felt like it compressed in on him. It was bearing down on him with memories of horrors and pain from many years. The living room was where many fights between him and Dudley had ended with Harry broken and bleeding. The kitchen had the sharp knives his Uncle had used to slice his arms and the stove which had burned his hand. The cupboard….

That small cupboard under the stairs was both a blessing and a curse. While it had been a refuge, of sorts, it had also been a place he had been locked in for days on end, nursing his own wounds and fighting off starvation and dehydration. Not to mention illness and infection. He remembered now when he had been sick as a child. Most children would have been coddled and nursed back to health by loving parents. Harry had been treated as if he had the plague. Thrown into the cupboard and forced to fend for himself. Getting sick in one corner and curling into a shivering fever ball in fits of sleep in the other.

He shook his head and turned to his aunt and uncle, both going back to business as usual, despite the threats from the order. His uncle was sitting his fat ass in front of the tv to laugh at the plight of others in some ridiculous painful-looking game show and his aunt was staring him down. After having him take his things up to his room she was now giving him a long list of chores.

"Yes, ma'am," he answered to every request. Mopping, dusting, cooking, gardening. The list went on and on.

"And I expect you to have this all done by dinner. You hear me? Those freaks at your school have no doubt allowed you to laze about far too long. I saw it every summer when your mother would return home. Self-entitled little bitch that she was. She'd come prancing in waiving that little stick of hers and expect us all to bow down. You listen, boy. None of that nonsense is allowed here."

Harry didn't even have it in him to defend his mother. He remembered how angry he got when anyone spoke ill of his parents in the past. Aunt Marge being blown up like a balloon being a clear memory (he'd gotten 3 days locked up and the belt for that the next summer). Now he was so torn down that he didn't want to risk their wrath. Perhaps now that he finally remembered it all, he was finally going to be the little slave they had been trying to create all along.

Harry spent the next few hours cleaning and preparing dinner. It was already late afternoon when they had gotten home, so he didn't exactly have much time to accomplish the list of chores. It wasn't a big surprise where the conversation led when they all sat down to dinner.

Harry was cleaning in the kitchen as the rest of his family sat. "Boy!" his uncle started. Harry flenched. Hard. The jerk he gave from that word coming at him in that voice was just about as bad as hearing Voldemort snap out a 'crucio'. "Did you finish your aunt's list?"

"No, Uncle Vernon."

The man started to chuckle. He was enjoying and looking forward to what was in store for Harry. "You didn't, did you? No dinner. And you'll meet me upstairs, later, boy. Don't you think we've forgotten what you did to Dudley last summer."

Dudley whimpered in his seat at the memory of the dementor attack and Aunt Petunia coddled him and dished out more food on his plate. Harry was shaking. His pig of a cousin was obviously still acting truly traumatized by the incident, which meant that Harry was in for a long night. "Ye….yes, Uncle Vernon."

The family proceeded to eat their meal in silence while Harry continued to clean the kitchen. He would jump at every clatter of silverware against their plates, sure that each time it was the final time his uncle was putting his set down. He was sure the man was being louder than normal with his utensils just to watch Harry squirm.

When he finally did put them down, it was gently and carefully on his napkin. Silently. So he could instead startle Harry with the sound of his chair being pushed back, scraping along the floor.

Harry dropped the pan he was scrubbing into the soapy sink water and whirled to face the broad man. His uncle had a look of malicious glee, "Get upstairs, now! Run, freak!"

Harry did as he commanded and leaped up the stairs, stumbling over himself in his fear. When he got to this room he stood in the middle of it, listening to sound as his uncle's lumbering form came slowly up the protesting stairs and down the hall. The sound of his belt being slid from his pants held the promise that Harry was dreading.


	11. Chapter 11

Ron sat with the rest of the Weasley's in Grimmauld Place at the dinner table. Hermione had gone home with her parents and Harry unfortunately back to Privet Drive, but the Weasleys had come straight to the headquarters for the order. It felt weird being in the house that Sirius had grown up in and hated so much, just after his death.

For once, Ron wasn't eating much. His mother had told him that the order was having a meeting that night, so they needed to eat and clear out of the kitchen quickly. He picked at his food, purposely delaying his departure in favor of keeping an eye out for Dumbledore.

His mom was fortunately not paying him much attention and was instead focusing all her maternal fury on the twins and their abrupt departure from school that year. This left Ron to his own mind, or so he thought. He felt a sharp jab in his side. "What the…?" He turned to see Ginny slyly turning her fork in her hand back the correct way to start in on her shepherd's pie.

She spoke out of the corner of her mouth, not wanting to draw attention. "What's your problem? You aren't eating. I promise that the twins didn't mess with it. They wouldn't dare with mom breathing down their necks right now."

He sighed and ate another bite, "It's not that." He debated for a moment on what all he should say to his little sister. She was close to Harry and Ron had a feeling she had never quite put down the flame she held for him. It would be helpful to have her help in the battle to free Harry. He didn't want to betray his friend's trust, though. So he would just skim the surface. "I'm just worried about Harry. He was really down after Sirius and everything. And those muggles don't really care properly, do they?"

Ginny nodded her head in sympathy, "Yes, I agree with you there. He certainly was quiet on the train ride. But at least he's safe, right?"

"Well, maybe he is and maybe he isn't. I don't know. He might be safe from Voldemort, but….other…people?" Ron kept picking at his food and only talking to her out of the corner of his mouth. Years of subterfuge spent together had the two youngest siblings very skilled in being sneaky.

"What are you saying? Do you think someone else has it out for him? I know the ministry hasn't been too pleased with him this year. And now he's made them look like fools. Is that what you mean?"

Ron had to give his sister credit, he hadn't even thought about the ministry's issues with Harry since everything happened. "Well, sure. I just worry about him. That's all. I'm going to try to talk to Dumbledore when he gets here. See if we can't spring him out early."

Ginny just gave the smallest of shrugs, "Good luck with that. He's always firm that Harry has to stay there for a while. I doubt you'll convince him otherwise."

Ron pressed his lips in determination as they heard the fireplace in the sitting room flare-up. "Well, here might be my chance." And it was. In to the room strode Dumbledore in all his orange neon glory. Ron actually kind of liked the color of the robes as they resembled the Chuddley Cannons. He popped up out of his seat before the man had even greeted everyone "Sir! Could I have a moment?"

Mrs. Weasley immediately started in, "Ronald! Give the man a moment! He just got here!"

"No, no. That's perfectly fine, Molly. We don't have much time before the meeting, after all. Come this way, Mr. Weasley," he said before striding back out of the room. Ron followed on his heels with a quick look of apology to his mum.

The two went to the library on the first floor and scared a few pixies who had been busy tearing books off the stacks. "So sorry to disturb their scholarly pursuits, I'm sure. Now, Mr. Weasley. Is this a sit-down conversation or stand up one?"

Ron set his chin in determination, "It's about Harry, sir."

"Ah, sit down then," the wizard said as he slumped into the nearest chair. Ron took the edge of the sofa directly in front of him and perched precariously.

"I'm worried about him, sir. He's not safe at that house. We need to get him out," Ron got straight to the point with only a small wobble to his voice.

"Mhm, mhm, mhm," the older man tutted in reply. "You understand why he needs to stay there, don't you, my boy? And with Voldemort out in the open now, it's more important than ever that Harry remains under the protection of his mother's blood kin. He's very vulnerable right now."

"But, sir. They aren't kind to him. AT ALL. They…they…"

"Mr. Weasley, I am sure Mr. Potter appreciates your concern. But we all understand that while he may not enjoy his time there, it's important if he is to see another year," he continued to talk even while Ron tried to interrupt him. He stood as he said, "Now the order meeting is about to start and I really must hurry. Lots to cover, lots to cover. I'll see you soon, I'm sure, Mr. Weasley." He practically jogged from the room amidst Ron's protests.

Ron, for a moment, was left furious. But then the reality of the conversation sunk in. There was no getting Harry free. His friend was doomed to another summer of torture.

oooooooo

As soon as Uncle Vernon came into the smallest bedroom at Privet Drive, Harry began trembling from head to toe. "Boy, you know the drill! Or do I have to tell you once again, you stupid freak?"

For once, he wasn't going to have to tell him. Harry remembered everything. In past beatings, it had always felt like the first time. His uncle would come in and tell him to 'assume the position' and Harry would be clueless as to what that meant. But this time was different. Harry turned his back to his uncle and stripped off his shirt. He walked to the opposite wall and braced either hand against it to stabilize himself.

"Aha! For once you have learned your lesson, you worthless sack of shit! Maybe they actually taught you something at that freak school?" The man barked out as Harry heard the sound of the belt sliding through his hands. He would always wrap one end around his hand a few times for a good grip, leaving the buckle end free. Without any other warning, the pain began.

The big brute swung his mighty arms up high with each blow. It always seemed to cause him a great deal of effort to beat Harry so thoroughly. The blood began after the fifth strike. Harry clenched his jaw and whined low in his throat. He felt the liquid start to run down his back, itching, and tickling amidst the bright, hot pain. He lost count after twenty.

The entire time Harry was mentally chanting to himself. 'He can't kill me. He can't kill me. He can't kill me.' Because it was true. Thanks to his knowledge of the prophecy, Harry knew that while he might be sorely injured by his uncle, he could never actually be killed. But with each new lash of pain, he felt his magic stirring inside, fighting to protect himself.

What would happen? Would it heal him, remove the scars, and block the memories like before? Or would this be the time he went on the attack? He felt the wall begin to rumble beneath his fingertips. In a panic, he fought back against his own magic. He couldn't get expelled from school. Another letter from the ministry and he'd be done.

The lashes continued and Harry closed his eyes. He let himself fall into the pain. In order to keep his magic in check, he embraced the feeling and allowed it to calm him, instead of fight it. He no longer had to bite back screams. It was as if the pain wasn't a part of him anymore. As if it were happening to someone else. He focused on breathing. In out. In out.

The sense of calm continued on through the rest of the strikes. Harry was breathing steadily and felt an odd sort of peace. If he hadn't had his elbows locked into place against the wall, he would have probably slumped forward and fallen down. His Uncle seemed frustrated with his lack of cries. He swung harder for the last few strikes. Any attempt to get a reaction from his nephew. But the peace continued.

Finally, it was over. Harry was grateful that his uncle was out of shape. He huffed and puffed as he staggered back away from Harry. The teen let out a sigh of relief, coming back into full awareness before turning to face him. He was immediately blinded by his uncle's fist coming straight into his face, right across his left eye.

"Did I tell you you could move?" Vernon yelled out as he punched Harry repeatedly. He hit along his jaw and the side of his face as Harry slid backward into the wall. There wasn't time enough to go back into a meditative state. He cried out and covered himself with his arms. His uncle finally huffed and stood up straight. He went to wipe his sweaty brow but saw his bloody fist. He grabbed the ratty blanket off Harry's bed and wiped his hands and the belt clean. Without another word, he ambled out of the room.

Harry slumped down to the ground and curled into himself. This time there would be no miraculous healing and hidden scars. The memories would not go away. He wept out of his sore, bruised eyes as the blood stained the floor beneath him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *hides* please don't hurt me! And keep reading! Harry's story does not end here....


	12. Chapter 12

Ron sat on the stairs at Grimmauld Place as the order meeting carried on. Ginny and the twins were downstairs next to the door, as usual, hoping to get any snippets of conversation that might make it past the silencing spell. But he wasn't interested in the order details. He was instead sitting with his knees up close to his chest, crying for his friend who he was sure was lying bleeding on the floor somewhere.

He tried to comfort himself with the knowledge that of everything else Harry had been through, he'd never been broken. But then he remembered that before his magic helped to protect him from the reality of his life. Would it still do that? Now that they had uncovered the truth, would his subconscious magic stop working?

It was a big unknown and Ron wasn't comfortable with wondering. He rubbed furiously at his face as tears rolled down. Downstairs he heard a commotion as once again Mrs. Weasley caught Ginny and the twins working to infiltrate the meeting. He listened with half an ear as she berated them and sent them on their way, but just as they started to amble up the steps in his direction he heard her call out again.

"Wait. Where's Ron?"

Apparently she would expect him to be right there with them, which normally he supposed he would have been. Ginny spoke out, "He's upstairs. He seemed upset about something."

"Okay, Ginny, thank you. Now go unpack. And if you get bored, I expect you to start cleaning in the library. There were some pixies in there making a mess earlier."

"Yes, ma'am," came a chorus of voices. But he didn't hear the door to the kitchen open again. Instead, multiple footsteps came up in his direction. He quickly scrambled up and got out of the way as the twins and Ginny all brushed past him. The twins avoided looking his way, but Ginny gave him a sympathetic smile as she went by. He wiped his face again in an effort to pull himself together.

That effort fell to pieces as soon as he saw his mother's compassionate face. He didn't understand it, but anytime any of the kids were upset, they had a hard time trying to disguise it from their mum. The sight of her care filled eyes immediately broke down any barriers and brought everything right to the surface. He started to cry openly.

She immediately put her arms around him and pulled him into a warm hug. "Shhh, shhhhh. Sweet boy. What's wrong?"

"H..h…harry can't stay th…th…there, Mum. He just c…c…can't!" He forced out around his sobs.

"Harry can't stay where?" she asked in her warm, patient tone.

"W…with those mu….mu…muggles! They, they hurt him!" He finally got out.

He felt her stiffen a little at his claim. "Hurt him? I know they aren't nice to him. You've always said they don't feed him enough, right?"

"It's worse," he pulled back and looked into her eyes as he gathered himself enough to speak plainly. "They really hurt him, Mum. Like they hit him and stuff. He has all these…all these….scars!"

Her eyes widened. She turned him to face her straight on and kept both hands on his biceps. She looked up into his face and made sure she had eye contact. Even though he was taller than she was, he always felt small under her gaze.

"Ronald, I want you to be totally honest with me right now. What do you know?"

"Those people are awful, Mum. His whole life they've beaten him, and starved him, and even burned him. He didn't know, really. His magic was b..b..blocking it or something. Like, it still hap…pened, but all the scars were hidden and he didn't really remember. We figured it out a couple of weeks ago. We were going to tell Sirius….but….now he's gone."

She cocked her head at him and narrowed her eyes. He realized at that moment why sometimes Hermione reminded him of his mum. They got that same concentrated look when sorting through a problem. She thinned her lips then asked, "Is this what you spoke to Dumbledore about earlier?"

"Yes! I…I tried. But he didn't let me really tell him. He just told me that Harry had to stay there because of the stupid b…b…blood wards then he left the room. He doesn't seem to care at all, Mum!"

She dropped her arms down and placed them immediately onto her hips. Oh dear, he recognized that look. Someone was about to get the full momma bear.

"Well, we'll see about that!" She turned and stalked back down the stairs. Ron followed eagerly, very interested to see someone other than he or his siblings get a good lashing.

She burst through the door of the kitchen and a hush fell over all the order members present. Ron saw his dad immediately look very concerned, but no one dared to stop her. Mrs. Weasley stormed straight up to Albus Dumbledore and grabbed him by his ear, yanking the most powerful wizard in existence down to her level.

"Do I understand this correctly, Professor?! You are letting that sweet, wonderful boy live in a home full of abuse? You don't listen when one of my children tries to tell you the truth? You just let him stay there and be beaten and starved because it's for his 'protection'?!" Her voice came out so loudly the portrait in the hallway awoke and started to yell blood slurs and vulgarity, but no one paid it any attention.

"I…I…what?" came Dumbledore's shaky voice.

"We are going to get that boy, Albus Dumbledore. We are getting him out of that house tonight. Right now!" Molly Weasley let go of his ear and turned to the room, "Is anyone coming with me? I will beat down that door myself if I have to."

Dumbledore tried to interject, "What do you mea…"

But Professor McGonagall interrupted him. "I'm coming too. I knew those muggles were up to no good." She said as she stood straight and tall, giving a side-eyed disapproving glance to Dumbledore.

"What boy? What are you guys talking about?" Tonks asked. Ron realized that most of the order hadn't drawn the same conclusion that McGonagall had.

"Harry." He said, announcing his presence.

With that admission, he saw most of the members of the order leap to their feet. Several all started talking at once.

"I knew it!"

"Those awful muggles, poor dear."

"I knew it was bad, but…"

"Now, just wait a second before we all storm into a muggle neighborhood," Dumbledore said in an effort to calm the room. "It won't do any of us any good to have the ministry sweeping in there and causing a scene."

"Cause a scene? You better hope I don't cause a scene, you old fool!" Mrs. Weasley spat at him.

"Mum, he's right," Ron said. She spun and looked at him with knit brows. "Harry wouldn't want everyone showing up there and getting in trouble with the muggles. We don't really need to do that, do we? Those muggles are terrified of us. We just need a couple of us, just enough to get him out of there."

He watched as she slowly nodded her head, "Okay. You're right, Ronald." Then, taking complete command she turned back around and called out orders. "Arthur and Remus, you're coming along. He's most familiar with us and will like seeing a friendly face. Minerva, you too. You're more than capable of handling those muggles. And you," she spun to face Dumbledore who Ron was amused to see shrunk slightly under her pointed finger. "You will contact Madame Pomfrey. I hope nothing has happened, for your sake, but if it has we might need her assistance. Understand?" The headmaster mutely agreed.

He watched as his parents, Lupin, and McGonagall all left out of the back of the house to apparate to Surrey and hopefully fetch his friend. He then saw Dumbledore go to the fireplace and stick his head through to converse with who he assumed was Madame Pomfrey. His suspicions were confirmed when the headmaster quickly scrambled out of the way as the mediwitch came bursting into the room.

She seemed to fight with herself a moment before eventually turning to the old man and with a low, quiet voice said, "We'll be having words. Later. But right now, I will do my best to rectify what you have caused." Then she swept into another room where there was a long couch available and began to unshrink vials of potions and a giant medical bag that she had pulled from her pockets.

A few of the order members, such as Mad-eye and Professor Snape, left. But several chose to stay to see for themselves that Harry was okay. Dumbledore was in a chair in the corner, the twinkle gone from his eyes. They sat and waited.


	13. Chapter 13

Harry had eventually pulled himself over to his bed and grabbed the blanket that his uncle had left thrown on the ground. Since it already had blood on it, he supposed it didn't matter much when he draped it around his body and curled up on his old, stained mattress. He now recognized where a lot of the stains had come from and was amazed that it didn't smell worse than it did. Perhaps that was one advantage to Hedwig being the corner, closed tightly in her cage. The smell of owl droppings drowned out stale blood rather well. She watched him with her wide eyes, blinking soulfully at him.

He was just drifting off into an uneasy sleep when he heard a commotion downstairs. It started with banging on the front door, but there was a loud slam as the door was forced open and tons of voices quickly after that. He recognized his uncle who was thundering out in alarm and his aunt who was shrieking in a pitch meant for dogwhistles.

But then he picked up the rest of the voices in quick succession. The first was loud and in charge, Mrs. Weasley. Low and menacing was Professor Lupin. Angry but with terse professionalism was Mr. Weasley. Then crisp and stern was Professor McGonagall. With all of them talking it was impossible to determine what exactly they were saying.

He sat up in his bed and drew the blanket more firmly around his body. His eyes darted around the room. What should he do? Clean up? Get dressed? Go downstairs? His body moved in slow, jerking movements as different parts flared in pain. His decision was made when the conversation downstairs was too brief for him to do anything else. He heard several sets of feet come up the stairs as they continued to talk. He was now able to make out a few sentences.

"No, it's out of the question," said Aunt Petunia.

"Get OUT! Now!" came Uncle Vernon's boom.

"Just let us see him," said Lupin. His words were reasonable but the tone was low and growly.

"We're taking him. Right now. Step aside!" Mrs. Weasley spat.

"If you resist you won't be happy with what comes next," said McGonagall.

Then his room door opened and all the adults were there in the frame. His Aunt and Uncle were almost impossible to see around the sides of the witches and wizards, but their continued irate voices made their presence known. The rest of them were silent. The lights were on in his room. He knew they had no problem seeing him fully in all his bloodied glory. He knew he had blood smeared all over him. The blanket was still wrapped around him, though, so the worst injury they could see was his face.

"Hi," Harry said. He wasn't sure what to do. So he waited for them to tell him. For a moment they all just stared at him with faces akin to the pain he felt in his body. While most looked him over and looked around the room, Mrs. Weasley simply met his eyes and after a brief shake of her head as if to clear it, her expression grew warm. Harry couldn't help but give a small smile of relief at it.

"Harry, dear boy. Let's get you out of here, okay? Are all your things in here?" she said. She was able to hold herself together and get down to business in a way the other adults seemed helpless to. But her words shook them out of their stupor.

McGonagall and Lupin turned about to face down the Dursleys. Wands were out and he watched as his aunt and uncle were backed out of his view. He wasn't sure what they were in for, but he knew he wouldn't want to be in their shoes right now. No one ever wanted to be on the wrong end of the wand to an angry werewolf and the most formidable Hogwarts professor barring Dumbledore.

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley meanwhile gathered his things quickly. They shrunk some as he watched and Mr. Weasley let Hedwig out his window with instructions to go to Grimmauld Place. With everything gathered, Mrs. Weasley turned to him and carefully sat next to him on the bed.

"Harry, dear, are you okay to walk?" She asked as a gentle hand reached out to his swollen and bruised face.

He thought about it for a moment and he wasn't sure how far he would make it. He knew that moving around a bit seemed to make him dizzy and his head pound. But he really didn't want to be carried out. "I think I can, ma'am." He swallowed and allowed himself to lean his head into her hand slightly. "Am I really leaving?" He couldn't help but ask. It seemed a bit too good to be true at that moment.

With his simple question, it seemed a small crack appeared in Mrs. Weasley's calm demeanor. She shuddered a moment and before she could speak, Mr. Weasley spoke instead. "Yes, Harry. There's no way that we would leave you here another moment."

Together the two of them helped Harry to stand. As he expected, the floor seemed to shift under his feet and the room tilted slightly before he as able to gain his balance. But after a moment to catch his breath they slowly made their way out of his room and down the hall. Behind them, they could hear McGonagall and Lupin speaking in hushed tones and Harry was sure he heard the zinging sound of some spells being used. He didn't know if they were simply altering memories or what, but at that moment he didn't really care. He'd find out later.

As they went to pass Dudley's door the rotund teen appeared within a small crack. He didn't say a word as they led Harry past, simply briefly meeting Harry's eyes before looking away and closing the door. Harry could have been imagining it, but under all the fear in those eyes, he thought he saw some regret.

He walked very gingerly down the stairs and pulled the blanket a bit tighter around himself. He was starting to get lightheaded and wasn't sure how much further he could walk, so he gripped the banister in white knuckles.

It turned out the limit was just on the other side of the front door. There, on the stoop, he started to collapse. His knees gave out and before they could slam into the concrete he felt Mr. Weasley sweep an arm along his side and pull him upright and flush to the older wizard's body. He tried to start to drag Harry, but suddenly Lupin was there in prime form, merely a couple of days before the full moon. Together they were easily able to hold him between them and swiftly carry him to the edge of the wards. Some careful jostling around had Harry fully in Lupin's arms. He was still somewhat upright and fortunately not being carried like a bride across the threshold. This put pressure on Harry's back and he couldn't help but gasp out in pain.

Harry hadn't ever apparated before and it was far from a pleasurable experience. With the world already spinning around him as it was, the added sensation had him quickly bending over to the side of Lupin and coughing up his empty stomach. His face flared brightly in pain and his jaw felt like it was about to fall clear off. The bitter bile made him lick his lips as he stood straighter and realized they were in the back garden of Grimmauld Place. Lupin simply continued to hold him and hushed to him like he was a frightened dog.

Out of the back doors came a flood of people. It seemed several order members were present along with Ron, Ginny, and the twins. In the back with a troubled expression stood the headmaster. As the man got a good look at Harry his face turned into true grief. Harry turned his face into Lupin's chest and tried to pretend there weren't so many people there witnessing him in his condition.

Before he could process much more he realized that at the front of the group was Madame Pomfrey who directed Lupin inside. Everyone stayed quiet as Harry was led in and set onto the sofa. It was weird and he kind of wanted to scream or cry or laugh just to break the odd silence. Once he was seated he pulled the blanket around himself tighter and looked around with apprehension. He really didn't want everyone present to see everything underneath. Madame Pomfrey mercifully realized this and cleared the room of most everyone. Remaining was Ron, Lupin, Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. He supposed those left would learn soon enough and so he didn't put up a protest.

Madame Pomfrey proceeded to cast a few charms at him, he supposed she was running some diagnostics. She pursed her lips and shook her head a little, then called Dumbledore closer.

"I need to know exactly what you want from this. I can heal him easily enough and quickly, but what kind of documentation do we want?" she asked in a hushed tone, but with no one else in the room talking they all heard her clearly.

He watched as Dumbledore seemed to think very hard. Finally, he sighed and said, "We…we shouldn't remove the chance of evidence when we have it. What do you need?"

Pomfrey nodded and remained professional, "A camera, parchment, and a legal recording quill." He nodded and left through the fireplace. Harry wanted to pull the blanket completely over himself. Evidence? A camera? Was he okay with this?

There was a short delay where Ron sat next to him and took his hand gingerly and Mrs. Weasley took up his other side. They treated him as glass which he supposed was wise. He was glad she wasn't holding him too close and getting herself covered in his blood. Lupin already had enough of it on his shirt.

Dumbledore stepped back through the fireplace and handed over the requested items. Madame Pomfrey set up the parchment on the table and spoke aloud to the quill.

"Exam of Harry James Potter, record date and time." Harry watched as the quill scratched it's way across the parchment. It wrote down the date and time in military format. The mediwitch then turned and looked at him. "Patient is 15 years old and male. Heart rate is slightly elevated, respiratory rate is normal. Patient has some moderate dehydration and borderline extreme blood loss. On his face, he has generous swelling and bruising around both eyes." Her hands delicately fingered along his jaw. "Jaw is fractured. Open up, dear. " It took him a moment to realize that was a request of him and he winced as he followed the order. "I'm sorry, I know it hurts. Two, no scratch that. Three teeth are loose. Lip is split and bleeding freely. Nose is broken." She performed another spell. "He is suffering from a moderate concussion." Harry hadn't realized how many times his uncle had socked him in the face. It had to have been a lot to cause that amount of damage. No wonder everyone was looking at him like he was about to keel over.

"Okay, dear. Let's take the blanket off," she said sweetly. She had to know that underneath would be more. Harry let the blanket drop down around him, exposing his bare torso. Madame Pomfrey was in front of him and so naturally didn't see the belting damage. But he realized that Lupin and McGonagall must have been standing behind him as he heard identical gasps. "Can you sit sideways on the couch?" Madame Pomfrey asked with a slightly shaking voice. She was afraid of what she was going to see, but surely it couldn't be that bad. He remembered much worse beatings in his past which he had obviously survived just fine.

He turned sideways and she was able to get a clear view after adjusting her seat a little. He now had Ron directly to his back and Mrs. Weasley was in front of him, clasping both his hands. He knew Ron had seen his scars before and he really didn't want Mrs. Weasley to start crying, so he had turned that direction on purpose. Ron sucked in a breath and failed to hide back a little sob. He heard Madame Pomfrey groan a little. If it got that kind of reaction out of the normally stoic mediwitch, it must have looked nasty. "Multiple lacerations along back with extensive bruising, open and bleeding freely. Estimated to be approximately twenty open and bleeding wounds." Harry knew there had been more strikes, but he supposed not all of them had drawn blood. "What caused this, Harry?"

"A belt," he responded in a small, raspy voice.

"Patient has claimed that the cause of the lacerations was a belt," there was a pause as she performed another spell. "There are no broken bones and no impacted internal organs. Thank Morganna for that. Is there anything else we should know about, Harry? Anything perhaps covered by your pants?" He greatly appreciated that she didn't have him fully undress. He shook his head. "Patient has shaken his head no. As evidence creates plausible concern for physical abuse I will now perform a medical history spell. Details will be inscribed and included in the final report." She then waved her wand in a complicated series of movements which created a very odd-looking glow. The quill on the parchment continued to scribe away but fortunately, nothing was said aloud. As he sat there letting the spell work he was fascinated to watch as different colored glows would arrive and dissipate over his body in different areas. Some were red, others blue and then others yellow. It took him a while to realize that like his dreams, these glows were creating a history of his physical health.

Everything was getting recorded. From blue light which ignited his whole right arm which probably indicated the missing bones from second year to a very frequent yellow pulse over his abdomen. He realized that the red ended up showing up every time had had a significant injury from someone else hitting or harming him. The writing scars on his hand glowed red as did every other scar that was still covered by his magic. He allowed himself to speculate that perhaps the yellow indicated times when he was left without food. He grew concerned when a new color, purple, showed up on his thighs where he had scratched himself during his molestation.

Throughout the whole ordeal, Ron and Mrs. Weasley remained fastidiously at his sides. Madame Pomfrey looked frequently back and forth between him and the parchment, taking mental note of things that he supposed required more attention. The whole thing ended when a bright red pulse encompassed his whole body before it briefly turned an alarming shade of green. After that, it was finished. "That would be the killing curse, dear. I'll have that scratched from the final record in order to maintain your anonymity. We won't submit any of this if we decide not to press any charges. If we do decide to, please know that it will all be kept strictly confidential and sealed as you are a minor." She then took out the camera and took a few pictures, moving fast and only briefly asking Harry to raise his arms or turn his head. "Now let's get you patched up, yes? There are a few things we'll have to address from past instances, but right now we need to focus on the present injuries."

She then gave him several vials of potion in quick succession and waved her wand several times with murmurs of general healing charms and an "episky" for his nose. He wondered to himself if he would have any new scars added underneath his subconscious magic. After everything was healed he felt down the side of his face and was pleased that he couldn't feel the scar on his cheek. So it was safe to assume the scars from his past were still hidden. Of course, Madame Pomfrey had the full comprehensive record of every injury on the parchment that was now rolled up on the table.

Throughout it all everyone else remained in the room and quiet. He realized about halfway through that Mrs. Weasley wasn't looking at him. Instead, she was glaring harsh daggers at the headmaster. He kind of felt sorry for the old wizard. Harry knew that he hadn't really known. No one had. Not even Harry himself.

He took a deep breath and looked around at everyone after it was all over. He gave them all a smile and said in a voice that only cracked slightly, "Thank you." Mrs. Weasley finally gave him the huge hug he knew she had been holding back. He clung right back to her and buried his face into her shirt that smelled of shepherd's pie. After she sat back and patted his cheeks she started to open her mouth, no doubt to console him. But he didn't want soft words at that moment. He just wanted to eat a little something and get to bed. "Do you have any food? I'm famished," he said before she could speak.

Predictably she gave him a wide grin and bustled up immediately, "Of course, dear! Let's get you filled up and off to bed. Ronald, would you please head upstairs to your room and make sure the other bed is prepared?" Ron nodded and headed out after giving Harry a little pat on his knee. Mr. Weasley followed his wife into the kitchen, no doubt to speak with her about things.

Lupin came and sat in the space now empty at his side. "Harry, I won't go into details right now, but I want you to understand that you have lots of people here under this roof who will make sure you never see hide nor hair of those people again. You are never going back, okay? We….we failed you." Harry was slightly alarmed to see tears start to run down the werewolf's face. "I failed you. James and Lily and even Sirius will no doubt haunt me for years to come. I'm so sorry. So very sorry."

Harry stopped him from babbling on by reaching out with soft hands and taking the man into a small hug. "Don't blame yourself, Professor. Please, don't. No one knew, not even me."

Dumbledore stepped forward at that and interrupted the moment, earning himself harsh glances from both female staff members. "Harry, I'm not sure I understand. What do you mean, you didn't know?"

Harry pulled back from Lupin and held his hands clasped in front of him to keep from fidgeting too much, "Well, that's the thing. So remember at school this year how everyone was doing that spell that showed magical scores?" He waited until he saw the headmaster nod. "Well go ahead and perform the spell on me, sir."

The old wizard smiled and drew his wand, "With pleasure, my boy. I've been itching to do it on someone, myself. Such a fun little charm!" He waved the wand at Harry. "Planimus Magicae."

As he could have predicted the number 698 floated into light about his head. The adults all looked pleased but then the expressions turned to baffled when it was followed by shimmering numbers that read 845.

"Truly intriguing," Dumbledore said as he stroked his beard.

"Hermione thought so too," Harry said with a fond smile. Dumbledore chuckled in appreciation of the brainy Gryffindor. "She took it as a challenge and started trying to find the answer. Turned out, only one other person had two numbers. Snape."

"That's Professor Snape, Mr. Potter," McGonagall admonished. Harry gave a small eye-roll in response.

"Yes, of course. She eventually figured out that the thing that was causing his two numbers and mine was Voldemort's effect on us. His dark mark and my scar." He saw all the adults look impressed at the teens for figuring out such a thing. They also looked confused about what this all meant about Harry's past abuse. "So she altered the spell to show when dark magic is present. This time Snape had 2 numbers, one in red. And I had three numbers, one in red and another one that was just slightly less than my highest number. So, once again, Hermione worked to find out why. There was no stopping her. Mental." This time it was Lupin that chuckled.

"In the meanwhile, I was having these weird flashbacks and random scars were appearing and disappearing all over my body. Professor McGonagall, Madame Pomfrey, do you remember the scar from Umbridge's blood quill?"

The two witches nodded. "Yes, Mr. Potter. Which, now that I know more about your past, I realize why you never told anyone about the detentions back when they happened. Rest assured, that woman got what was coming to her." Harry grinned at his head of house. He knew she was pleased with how things had eventually ended with the defense professor.

"Right, well, that was the first one. It seemed like that was a catalyst or something. I didn't intend to cover it up, my magic did it on its own. After that, it was like I went back through my life, remembering all the shit that had happened."

Mrs. Weasley had just stepped back into the room with a bowl of steaming shepherd's pie and she tutted at his language but no one said anything. Apparently, after you have been through what he had, he had earned a right to use whatever language best fit the circumstances. "So eventually Hermione figured it out. It was my subconscious magic that was covering up the scars and hiding the memories. She performed a charm to reveal them all, just before the OWLs. All the scars showed up and the memories were all back." Harry shuddered. "It….well let's just say it sucked. I asked her to put back, and she did. The scars were hidden again, but the memories were still all there. I guess I couldn't forget it all a second time or something."

Dumbledore hummed quietly to himself and sat back. "I have heard of subconscious magic doing some pretty remarkable things, but never something that lasted for so long. Usually, it's in short bursts, like accidental magic. Yours appears to maintain itself constantly, even while you sleep or are knocked unconscious. Truly fascinating. Would you mind if I see it at work?"

Harry bit his lip for a moment but then decided that it was all basically out of the bag at anyways. So he shrugged. Dumbledore raised his wand once more and said the spell Harry remembered Hermione using before. "Altum Animo Stabit."

Harry once again didn't feel any different, but he knew it had worked when he saw everyone's eyes grow wide. Harry had forgotten that he still didn't have a shirt on. While the blanket was pulled a bit haphazardly back around him, there were still plenty of scars along his body that were visible. He pulled the blanket a bit tighter around himself and looked down. He caught out of the corner of his eye Madame Pomfrey consulting the medical history report. It seemed she was trying to link the scars with the listed injuries. Mrs. Weasley was shaking next to him and he knew she was trying to keep in her crying. No one said anything for a brief moment, then Dumbledore said in a sorrow-filled voice, "Patitur Altum Animo," and the scars disappeared again.

"My boy, please know that Remus was right. You will never be going back to those people. What exactly did you do to them anyways, Remus? Minerva?"

Both the adults flushed at his inquiry and eventually McGonagall said, "Suffice to say, Albus, we did a small part in helping them see the errors in their ways. They might find it difficult to sit for a while."

Lupin chuckled a little and got a little marauder gleam in his eye. He leaned towards Harry and whispered, "I might have given them screaming butt boils." Harry grinned proudly. "But you should have seen her, Harry. Minerva was in true form. She transfigured your aunt into a purple spotted giraffe and your uncle into an incredibly rotund donkey. My screaming boils were just icing on the cake." Harry's jaw dropped as he looked back to his head of house who had an evil gleam in her eye as she gave him a wink. Dumbledore appeared to be pretending to not have heard a thing.


	14. Chapter 14

Harry spent the following couple of days mostly laid out in bed. While he may have been healed of his recent bout at Uncle Vernon's hands, it turned out he had many old injuries that hadn't healed correctly, according to Madame Pomfrey. Which meant one thing. Skelegrow.

The suppliers of the disgusting potion should have been very pleased with the amount of money the matron was most likely contributing to their bank accounts. He had to regrow several bones in multiple parts of his body. Some of it was from old breaks, but a lot of it was from malnutrition during his most formative years.

Every morning and evening the mediwitch came to Harry's room and consulted with him about her plans for the next twelve hours before performing all sorts of spells and having him drink tons of potions. She also put him on a specially prescribed diet that was extra high in calorie content and nutrients. There was a special shake he had to drink that reminded Harry of the protein drinks he had seen Dudley consume while building muscle. He had to admit, though, it was all very effective. He actually gained five inches in height and a full two stones in weight. He was kind of eager to see how his new physique would act while flying.

He also had to have a series of vaccines that she had been alarmed to find out he had never received and had his eyes rechecked. Turns out his glasses prescription was horribly ill-suited for him. It was amazing he had been able to see the snitch all those years. She explained that perhaps that had once again his subconscious magic working with his sheer force of will. There unfortunately wasn't anything she could do for the scars without basically removing his skin and regrowing it all from scratch. But with his magic still covering them, he was okay with that.

It was on one of the last visits that she broached a subject with him that he had been sure she would never bring up. "Now, Harry, while I am able to heal the physical ailments from the abuse, there are other effects that are outside of my specialty. I suggest that you start meeting with a mind healer."

Harry started to shake his head emphatically. While he had been okay with telling those close to him, he couldn't imagine telling someone he didn't know of the trouble he had gone through. Besides, what's to say that it wouldn't end up on the front page of the Prophet?

"Now, I understand your hesitation, but I must insist. While telling those close to you is a wonderful step in the right direction, one that I commend you for, it is just scratching the surface on the therapy that you undoubtedly could benefit from. Besides, I think there are some experiences you haven't told anyone about, yes?"

Harry's eyes widened in alarm. How could she know? Molestation didn't really harm the body, so how did she come to that conclusion?

"That spell that I performed to uncover your medical history shows up as purple when there's a self-inflicted injury, dearie. Now I was pleased to see the scars on your arm were not from your own hand, it did still show something along your thighs?"

Harry mutely nodded. He took a big gulp in and opened his mouth. No words came out. Madame Pomfrey sat patiently waiting for him to talk in his own time. Maybe she had some mind healer training after all. "It's not what you think. I didn't…you know…like purposely harm myself. I just…I don't know. It's hard to explain."

He had confessed it all to his hands that were twisting around themselves in his lap. She looked at him with a troubled expression as though she wasn't sure she could fully believe him. "I think I understand, but it does make me more resolved in the need for a mind healer, though. While you are a remarkably well-balanced young man for all that you've been through, I worry that something is eventually going to be the wand that breaks the erumpent's back? As you process all that happened, I have no doubt you'll have questions and concerns that some may not be able to answer or even comprehend."

Harry nodded his head in understanding before saying, "I'll think about it. Thank you, ma'am. For everything."

She patted his hands once more and said, "You are more than welcome, dear boy. We are so glad that we know the truth and could remove you from that awful situation. Now you just take it easy for a few more days and after that I expect you to feel better than you have in…well…ever." She gave him a sweet smile as she bid him goodbye and left him alone.

He snuggled back in his covers and moved his hands for a moment over his thighs. He didn't know anymore if he should be glad or not that he couldn't feel or see the scars. He supposed it was easy to pretend nothing had ever happened when you couldn't see them, but he knew they were still there. Hidden. Maybe for right now that's exactly where they all belonged. He could keep pretending for now. Besides. He had a dark wizard to murder. He had enough on his plate.

oooooooo

It was several days later while he was playing exploding snap with Ron and the twins that they were interrupted by Dumbledore coming into the sitting room. Harry had been pleased that for the last several days everyone had mostly acted like he was simply there for a visit, that his whole life and history hadn't gotten turned upside down.

He had a feeling that his time of peaceful avoidance was over with the arrival of the headmaster. After the old wizard greeted all who were present he asked "Harry, my dear boy, a word please?"

Harry got to his feet and walked on his new gangly legs after the still taller wizard. He felt like a new baby fawn learning to walk all over again the last few days and he still had twinges of growth spurt pains that left him gasping for breath at times.

After they settled into the library that was now pixie free it seemed that for once Dumbledore was hesitant to start. Harry waited. He wasn't eager to start talking either and didn't quite know what Dumbledore wanted to talk about.

Finally, after a heavy sigh that lowered his shoulders in weariness he began, "Harry, you have to know that I am so very sorry. I…" he sighed again and then brought his eyes to meet Harry's. "I never thought that such harm and mistreatment could have become of you by the hands of your relatives. It was my duty to ensure that you were loved and cared for and I failed you."

Harry opened his mouth to interrupt him but then stopped himself. He wasn't sure he wanted to give the headmaster any peace of mind. It was true, wasn't it? He had been left there without anyone checking in on him. The Dursley's could have been worse. He could have been at death's door any number of times over the years. And would anyone know besides old Mrs. Figg?

"I wanted to address where you will stay from now on. I think for now it would be best to confine you to either here at the order headquarters or at Hogwarts. The protection that your aunt's blood afforded you will be gone very soon, and that will make you very vulnerable. As much as I would love to give you some freedom to visit friends or even Diagon Alley, I simply can't. I'm sorry."

Harry nodded along as he listened. He wasn't sure that he really minded. He didn't feel like going out much, anyway. But he was left with a big blank spot in his life. "Sir, what about who's my guardian, now? I mean, who's in charge of me? I guess you are?"

Dumbledore sat back in his chair and steepled his fingers. He was wearing somewhat subdued burgundy robes that made his silver hair shine by contrast. "I am as close to a guardian as you will have for now, but I am not technically or officially so. With the current nature of things, we must keep all of this under wraps, so as far as the ministry is concerned you are still technically a ward of the Dursley's. We'll keep the medical report that Madame Pomfrey compiled on hand for the time when we are able to properly bring everything to light. We also can't officially have Sirius declared dead as by all accounts he was technically not in the Department of Mysteries that night. He was still a convict on the run and for us to confirm him being there without evidence of a body would raise a lot of suspicion on ourselves for associating with him."

"What? You mean we can't even have his name cleared or anything?" Harry sat forward and felt eager to jump to his feet.

"I'm afraid not, my boy. Until we have proof of Pettigrew's continued life and therefore Sirius' innocence, he will remain an escaped guilty man until proven otherwise." Harry was about to interrupt and continue his claims of indignation but Dumbledore continued, "that aside for now because rest assured it's only a temporary problem that we will eventually rectify, it still leaves the question of your guardianship. You are almost 16 and that leaves a little over a year left before you are a legal adult in the wizarding world. Until then, I feel that it will be up to me and other order members to be there for you when you are in need of an official adult."

Harry slumped down. He had been hoping that he could have been made a member of the Weasley family, perhaps. Or at least officially a ward of Dumbledore, Remus, or even McGonagall. He felt like a ship adrift at sea.

Dumbledore interrupted his musings with a question, "So I noticed you are still covering the scars. I fully understand, but I was wondering if you found it was effecting your magic at all?"

"My magic, sir?"

"Well, yes. Subconscious magic is a pretty obscure science that a lot of people don't really fully understand. They still study it in the Department of Mysteries, I believe. So now that you know about the subconscious magic at play but are not stopping it, I was wondering how that's affecting things."

"I don't really get what's going on, sir. I mean, why did I have so many magic numbers? And now I know about my subconscious magic working and while it doesn't stop the memories, it still covers my scars. It's just weird, sir." Freaky, Harry thought to himself.

"I would imagine that would all be very confusing you. To my best understanding, what was happening with your magic score is that you had other influences on your reading. If someone were to cast the spell to reveal a person's magic score as that person is conducting a spell, it would display two readings. Everyone has a number that represents the magic available to them at any given moment. If there is something influencing that magic, whether external or internal, then they will show two numbers. In your case, you had both external and internal forces at work. The external is Voldemort's magic in your scar and through his link to you that drains some of your power. Same as what happens with Snape.

Now when the brilliant Ms. Granger was able to segregate out that force it was revealed that you have an internal force at work, too. Your subconscious magic. That magic, while not as draining as Voldemort's influence, still causes you some drainage and gives you a third number. If we were able to stop your subconscious magic at work and also stop Voldemort's influence on you then you would find you would be significantly more powerful. As it stands, you're already above average in power levels with those influences in place. Take them away and I think, my boy, that with time and training you could be one of the most powerful wizards to ever live."

Harry just shook his head. It was hard to comprehend and even fully understand. To be a really powerful wizard? But have to stop his subconscious magic first? And stop Voldemort's influence somehow? It was a lot to take in.

"As for why your scars are still covered even though your memories are back, I think only you can fully answer that. With time and healing, you may find that your subconscious magic stops covering them, and instead, you would need to use a concealment charm to cover them instead. Right now, you subconsciously don't want them visible more than you consciously do. For the time being, I think I'll borrow a delightful muggle phrase and say let's put that all on the back burner. It would do you a lot of good to rest, have some fun, and let your body heal. And if you have any questions about any of that, my door is always open. Agreed?"

"Yes, sir."

Harry bid the professor goodbye as he left to go do important things. He stayed where he was sitting for a while, rubbing the back of his right hand where he knew the blood quill scars lay. Then he rubbed his face, his wrists, his arms, and imagined having all the scars revealed to anyone who looked at him.

oooooooooo

It was two days later when Harry received a welcome surprise one morning. He was laying stretched out on the sitting room couch trying to relieve some of his pains in his legs while listening to Ron reading Quidditch Weekly aloud.

"Listen to this, mate. They say that the Chudley Cannons are going to have a new keeper this year! They suspect that Jameson will be traded to the Tornadoes after all."

Harry was rubbing his thighs in frustration while flexing his ankles back and forth. "Again? Didn't they get a new keeper last year?"

"No, that was a chaser. Actually 2 chasers. They tend to not keep players for very long. At least, not the good ones. I wish they'd get a new seeker. Trimble is a joke. You should try for it after you graduate, mate. You'd be a shoo-in. You could fly circles around Trimble."

Harry stared at his long legs and shrugged. Who knew if he would be any good as a seeker anymore. His eyesight may be better but he had to give his smaller, malnourished frame some credit. It was very fast. He might not be as tall as Ron now, but he felt like a completely different person.

Their talk was interrupted by the fireplace flaring with a floo entry. Hermoine came stepping out gracefully with a bag slung over her shoulder. Her face lit up and she raced into Harry's arms without even bothering to dust the soot out of her bushy hair first.

"Oh, Harry! I'm so sorry it took me so long to get here! I got Ron's owl a few days ago and then it took me a few more days to convince my parents that I should come for a visit but they finally let me when I wouldn't shut up about it and I kept dragging them to every bookstore and library looking up guardianship laws and childhood trauma and basically anything I could to get you out of there…"

"Hermione! Let the boy breathe! He's fine, can't you see?" Ron finally interjected and she stuttered to a halt before sitting back and looking Harry up and down.

"You are, aren't you? I…I don't see a scratch on you. Pomfrey?"

Harry smiled, "Hello to you, too. And yes, Pomfrey patched me up just fine. More than fine, I guess. I basically have a new body. They say I won't be going back again. Even if they can't make it official or anything. You really didn't need to interrupt your vacation."

She slapped his shoulder and said, "Of course I did! It won't be much longer before the Weasley's are off and I really can't stay long but I had to make sure you are really okay…"

"The Weasleys? Ron? Your family is leaving?"

Ron rubbed the back of his head a bit before replying, "Yeah, I hadn't mentioned it yet. We're leaving the day after tomorrow for a few weeks to visit Aunt Muriel. I tried to convince mom that we didn't have to go, but she says Aunt Muriel is about to kick the bucket or something and this might be our last summer with her. I swear she's said that every year since I was five. But there you have it."

Harry nodded his head and held back his sigh. He didn't want to seem too disappointed, but he knew that with the Weasleys leaving he would be mostly alone in Grimmauld Place. Some of the order members would pop in, he gathered, but otherwise, it would be him and Kreacher. Oh, joy.

"Harry, it's going to be okay. It's just a little while, right? And we'll all be owling you, right Ron?"

"Oh, of course! You know I'll be bored out of my mind at Aunt Muriel's. You aren't missing anything. And I'm sure you're not thrilled with staying here, but at least it's better than the Dursley's."

Hermione slapped Ron's arm at that making him wince. Harry gave them both a smile to fight back their worries. Together, the three friends snuggled into the couch and listened as Hermione talked about her vacation in France and Ron flipped back through Quidditch Weekly again to inspect the new broom that Nimbus was releasing to beat the Firebolt. Harry mostly stayed quiet and tried to enjoy the time with his friends.

He figured he should try to soak in these moments of peace while he could. Who knew what the future held for the boy that only just now knew his own past. After all, Ron was right. It was better than the Dursley's.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it! I am working on a sequel now that will cover the rest of summer and Harry's 6th year. Please leave comments and let me know where you think this story leads! Let's just say, it won't be smooth sailing for our poor boy.


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